


Third Time's the Charm

by Sleepy_Writer



Series: Angel of War [2]
Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 21,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_Writer/pseuds/Sleepy_Writer
Summary: Sequel to Angel of War.





	1. Prologue

Laylah and Rahab had always been peculiar by Firstborn standards, least of all by the fact that they were the sole surviving couple. The biggest difference was their lack of children. Laylah had none in her lineage, Rahab merely two. Compared to their peers, who had over the eons accumulated several dozen Secondborn in their Lineages, they could almost be called ‘infertile’. The one closest to them in number had been Abaddon’s grandfather, with twenty-eight Secondborn in his Lineage, by virtue of his wife having died relatively young and him refusing to remarry afterwards.  
The female Laylah was currently visiting was the sole other surviving female Firstborn. She had married twice, though by now both husbands were long dead. Unlike her sister, she had borne plenty of children to both her spouses.  
This of course was not why Laylah had left Fading Dawn to visit her in the White City. That was courtesy of the peculiarity this female had: she was the closest Heaven had to an omniscient person, by virtue of her being the progenitor of one of Heaven’s more controversial abilities. Her descendants alone could possess Second Sight.  
“What did you see, Iaoel?” The other Firstborn stood a bit behind her.  
“A cursed oath.” Two wings, tinged in gold opened gracefully as she rose from her seat to face her ‘sister’. Over the eons, she had honed her ability to near-perfection and nowadays it rarely activated outside of her control. But now it had.  
“What cursed oath?” Laylah watched the vibrant golden eyes trail over her body, despite them being incapable of seeing her. “And why does that concern me?”   
“Your son...” Iaoel had long been blind, losing her sight in the battle that lost her her first husband. “The one that died long ago.”  
“I have it on authority that he’s still alive.” The Angel of Conception muttered.   
“No doubt.” The two golden wings were now neatly folded at her back. “I heard what you called that Fallen five years ago, after all. I am blind, not deaf.”  
“Can we get to the point?” The other Firstborn demanded sharply. “It is not one of my happier memories.”  
“Of course.”   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
War at roughly the same time had to admit that his first thought had been correct. Looking out of the window at the children playing outside, his eyes fastened on the only one with large wings. Large wings that had started to turn black...  
He flinched lightly at the realization that his child – Azrael’s child – had started Falling. The trauma of losing her mother, combined with a lack of ‘true’ angels around, had started her descent into darkness. Even the arrival of a young scholar, banished from the White City for studying demonic artifacts too closely for Heaven’s comfort, yet capable of teaching her everything unFallen, had not stopped the darkening of her wings merely slowed it.  
“It was to be expected.” Caim moved to stand beside him. “Even if Azrael had been here, it might well have been that she would have had too many influences of my company to prevent this.”  
War snarled lightly. “I wanted her to be unFallen... She could have visited him once she was old enough to travel on her own... They won’t let her in if she’s black-winged.” He turned away from the window, marching out of the room, nearly pushing over his older brother.  
“Someone’s salty.” Strife looked after War before looking at the Fallen. “Also, I saw Puppy with Azazel.”  
Caim rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Honestly, why do my Fallen like that little scholar so much?”  
“He’s cute and cuddly?” Strife snorted, leaning closer to the angel. “Or maybe it’s because he’s like you... so uncorrupted.”  
“Real subtle there...” Caim pushed him away. “It’s two more days, pervert.”  
Shortly after the loss of Azrael, Caim had broken under his guilt, blaming himself for failing to either defeat his mother or drive her to killing him. He then found himself in bed, nursing a spectacular hangover and Strife nursing him, having found the Fallen’s Commander as he had drunk himself into a stupor.  
Desperate for some form of punishment, the angel – knowing the Nephilim’s sexual reputation from rumors among the demons – had almost demanded they sleep together.  
The Rider had promptly refused. “You misunderstand my tastes, Commander. I enjoy causing pain that gives pleasure, not pain alone. The few where I left out the pleasure deserved it. You do not.”  
A few days after that incident, the White Rider found Caim in front of his room-door. Looking surprisingly vulnerable, the Fallen shyly asked if they could just sleep in the same bed: he was plagued by nightmares and did not wish to burden any of his Company with this.  
Needing some close connection after having lost his baby-brother again, Caim a few months later had suggested a friend-with-benefits-deal with Strife, remembering that despite the other Nephilim’s disapproval, Azrael had valued the Gunner for some reason.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
To somehow keep Azrael’s punishment of three centuries banishment from Heaven, in the end it was decided that he would use his considerable powers to make Earth habitable for humans again and after that assist in the removing of the Corruption that still infected large swathes of land across various other worlds as well.  
Most demons had retreated back to Hell a few months after War had killed the Destroyer, but they had left nearly all of the monsters and certainly had not undone all the damage that had been done.  
Metatron often joined him, the both of them making quick work of most of the demons accursed influences in the Third Kingdom.  
As such, he was the first to notice the profound change in the other mystic. A change so profound that drove him to leave the younger angel for a time to travel to his siblings.


	2. Chapter 1

If there was one thing no Fallen ever wanted to see, than it was one of the Angelic Firstborn hovering just outside a dome of wards said Firstborn could probably very easily bring down in moments... Which was why a good dozen Fallen bitterly regretted not leaving with the others on the errand they had been assigned.  
Fury – as the only Rider currently in residence - meanwhile was blissfully unaware of this fact until she noticed how quiet the house had become. Granted, there were periods of silence, but at least the children always made themselves known some way, even if only by the echoes of their wings.  
“What on...?” Leaving the room she was in to investigate, it was by sheer accident that she noticed the quadruple wings standing just outside of Death’s protective wards. “Who? Wait a moment...”  
She could probably figure out the details as to where the birds of the fortress had gone later. “Why are you here?” And how did you even find this place, she added mentally.  
“Running some errands.” Metatron smiled lightly at her, iridescent robes almost reflecting the glow of her whip. “Is War present by any chance?”  
“Why? Has the White City decided that Grace must be taken from him as well now?”  
“The White City does not even know I am here.” The angel countered coolly. “Not every angel is solely an extension of its’ will, as Azrael proved plenty before, I imagine.” He pulled a scroll from his sleeve, offering it to her. “I have this for War, please pass it on if you would.”  
“What is it?” She took it hesitantly, holding it with both hands while not removing her eyes from him.  
“I am old, Rider, old enough to have been there when the Codex was written. In fact, I was the one who wrote it myself. Far more often than my hands appreciated, in fact.” He snorted lightly. “At any rate, I know it by heart even now. And let’s just say... he would very much appreciate knowing this particular passage.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
War had learned angelic script by now, both from looking over Azrael’s shoulder when they had sat together as well as when he was Grace’s study-buddy during her homework from Puppy.  
As such, he could afford to look at the scroll in private after dinner. He had moved up into their former tower-room, sitting on the bed they had shared for over seven years.  
His eyes narrowed when he deciphered the words. How... how dare they... Was this some mockery of Heaven? Or...  
He almost dared not hope. Granted, this was a string of humiliations, but if true...  
His blue eyes trailed to the closet opposite of where he was sitting. It was still full of the scholar’s clothes, virtually untouched after the mystic had had to return to the White City.  
He got up, crossing the room to open it. The most prominent article was a thick, white fur-coat. After Azrael had gone, Grace had not touched it again.  
Carefully he took it from the coat, moving back to the bed.   
“Azrael...” Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the white softness. “For you...” For Azrael, he would even risk the mockery of Heaven. But if he found that all this was indeed a mockery, he’d make sure the angels would regret the move.


	3. Chapter 2 NSFW

The angels standing guard at the gates into the White City were not amused when seeing who was coming down the causeway. War and Ruin were slowly closing the distance to the angels.  
“He’s here as a guest for me.” Metatron appeared above the battlements, touching down outside of the walls. “Welcome, War. You are here quite early.”  
“No use in waiting.” The Rider brought the flaming horse to a stop. “It better not be some kind of mockery.”  
“I wouldn’t dare.” The four-winged male gestured into the City. “If you would follow me...”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“You wanted to speak with me?” Azrael entered the office of his father. His parents were at the rich wooden desk, carved with the images of birds over a roiling sea. The scholar looked gaunt, even under his luxurious robes.  
“Yes.” Despite this being Rahab’s office, it was Laylah who was sitting behind the desk, while her husband was leaning on its’ side. “We had a visitor today regarding you.”  
“After the proper motions, he asked for your hand in marriage...” Laylah continued after a short silence. “We have granted him this right.”  
“You... gave him that right?” Azrael demanded sharply. “I thought we talked about this a good while back. Since when is your memory faulty!?”  
“We figured you’d not mind this contender for your hand.” The male Firstborn smiled lightly, gesturing with his hand to behind his son.  
Before the younger angel could say or do anything in response, a hand settled on the small of his back. He froze in response, both because it was cold metal and because it was far too large to belong to any angel.  
“I might have made some assumptions as well.” A rough and familiar voice spoke softly into his ears. “Considering we have a daughter together...”   
“War...” The scholar wheeled around, just barely having enough sense to not whack the man behind him with his long wings. He started trembling when his eyes confirmed what his heart had already realized. “How...?”   
“Some Divine Interference.” The Rider had not removed his massive gauntlet, pulling the angel close with it. “Your uncle informed me how I could get another chance.”   
“But...” The mystic was clinging to the bulkier male. “But... that...”   
“Was well worth you.” War smiled gently. “You should know that.”   
“No doubt.” The two Firstborn moved closer. “Azrael. Surely our guest would like some rest and food. We trust you can see to that?”   
“I...” The angel looked over his shoulder at his parents and then to the male holding him. “Of course.” He relaxed, closing his eyes as he teleported them both to his room. By the time they arrived, War was plundering his mouth hungrily.   
“I think those can wait.” The Rider pushed the angel to the nearest wall he saw, pressing the slender body against his own. “For now, I’d rather have you.”   
“You can have me...” The scholar murmured, wrapping his arms and wings around the Nephilim in front of him. “Gladly.”   
“No doubt.” War purred, using his golem-arm to hold the angel close. “Banish our clothes...” One of his fingers trailed over the mystic’s bare neck. “And use that one spell. I will not wait.” He grinned when feeling the shudder run through his lover’s body. “Not anymore.”   
Azrael was nearly being crushed with the strength War was pushing him as he started chanting. He threw his head back, allowing the Nephilim to bury his teeth in angelic flesh.   
The Red Rider briefly closed his eyes when he finally felt his beloved again, before pulling back and looking around the room. Finding the bed, he pulled them onto it.   
The moment Azrael was sitting on his lap, War gently held his face and studied it briefly. Breath caressing his beloved moist lips, his voice was a mere whisper when he spoke again. “Tell me what you desire and I shall grant it.”   
“What I always desire...” Azrael whispered, hand trailing down to caress the already hardening erection of the Rider. “You inside me, taking me so hard that I have trouble sitting. The soreness of knowing I am yours, beloved...”   
War kissed him deeply. “Then you better have that spell ready.”   
Azrael trembled when he realized why his mate demanded that. Enjoying the flushed look of his mate, War grasped the slender hips and lifted him up. Guiding Azrael down, he leaned back down until his back was on the sheets. “Ride me.”   
Azrael moaned at the small hint of pain mixing in with pleasure as he finally, finally felt War inside him again. He gaped at the Horseman's demand though, jaw dropping lightly. Blushing even more fiercely, he obeyed hesitantly. Taking himself slowly, he leaned back, supporting himself on War's thighs as the lustrous wings twitched in pleasure. He could not look away from the burning eyes of the Red Rider.   
The blushing suited Azrael, making him even more desirable. His eyes drank in the sight of his mate moving on top of him, even his wings trembling. Once the angel was more comfortable, War began to roll his hips rhythmically.   
Azrael moaned without any sense of shame now, nearly every move hitting that spot inside his channel that send fire through his veins. He leaned forward, searching War's lips in a kiss as he moved ever faster.   
Locking his lips with the angel's, War followed his lead. He felt pleasure building, hands gripping the hips hard enough to leave bruises.   
Azrael broke the kiss, moving with abandon on top of his mate. So close... so very, very close... “War!” He could not stop himself, keening the name of the one who held his heart as he came hard.   
Feeling Azrael clenching around his cock pulled him over the edge. War roared in pleasure, pulling Azrael down onto his chest again and reclaimed his mouth.   
Azrael moaned at the feel of heat inside him, kissing War just a tad lazily as he snuggled into the Rider's chest.   
Holding tightly onto his beloved, War nuzzled the freshly made mark, feeling finally whole again.   
Azrael sighed lightly, purring at the arms around him. Half-lifting himself upright he looked down into War's face, trailing kisses all over it. “I love you.”   
“As do I you.”


	4. Chapter 3

“I had almost forgotten how good you felt.” War mused, his golem-arm stretched out beside the bathtub as his flesh hand caressed his angel’s back.  
“Likewise.” The angel in question was snuggled against his chest, long wings stretched out behind his back to keep most of the long feathers out of the soapy water. “I am still amazed you willingly went through that all.”  
“For you, I’d plead to Hell’s lowest slave.” The Rider pulled his lover closer to him. “I am more surprised that your parents even let me know that it was a thing considering their earlier stance on us.” He looked in surprise when that statement made Azrael flinch.  
“Their stance never changed.” The scholar pulled himself free, moving to get out of the warm water. “It seems I am even more of a fool than I ever believed.” Reaching for a towel, he moved to one of the windows, looking through the colourful glass. If one was close enough, one could just make out the outline of bridge leading to the outpost.  
War joined him, caressing the bare back with one hand. “How come?”  
“Everything... everything I ever accused them off was wrong.” The mystic snarled, burying his face in his hands. “They cared... they always did. Even... even the Puer Sacramentum was meant to help me.”  
“How the hell was that supposed to help?” War demanded, guiding his lover away from the window back to the tub. Heaven got surprisingly chilly after the light had faded.   
“You were supposed to win.” Azrael allowed the other to get him back into the warm water. “My father intended to lose. But it became a draw, he misjudged your capabilities... and when mother saw him like he was and felt the bond between them activated... she got controlled by her emotions.”  
“That may be the case, but why did they challenge in the first place if they did not mind us?” War pulled his lover into an embrace, reaching for some of the remaining food.   
“Because we have a child.” Azrael lifted one hand, forming an illusion of Grace when she was little above it. “We did do everything as wrong as could be. They had no choice but to demand a Puer Sacramentum if there was to be any chance for legitimizing our union. As said, my father intended to lose and when that failed, my mother intended likewise after she regained her calm. And if I had just thought about things for a moment, we could have prevented all this.” Slamming his hand on the marble floor in frustration, Azrael looked away from his lover.  
“It is no longer important.” War reached for the hand, cradling it in his. “We are together now. That’s all that matters. Let’s leave the past in the past, my love.”  
The angel sank against the chest of the Nephilim. “How can I? You and Grace must have been so hurt...”  
“And we have you back now.” War wrapped his arms around the angel.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Later that night, War was resting in the luxurious bed beside Azrael. The angel was asleep, but the Nephilim could not quite do it. It didn’t help that he was still somewhat hungry. He had fed most of the delivered food to his lover, having been quite upset at how much weight the angel had lost.  
“Azrael...” He caressed the sleeping form, trying to wake him up just a bit. “Do you think I could go get some food?”  
Still half-asleep, the scholar chuckled lightly at his mate’s appetite. “The kitchen is four floors down. Fifth door to left once you get down the stairs.”  
“I’ll try not to scare the cooks.” The Rider got up, dressing in his leggings and tunic to leave the room.  
The Nephilim walked slowly through the dark hallways. He might be a guest, but that didn’t mean he would be at ease just yet.  
They were deserted, though he could see guards flying outside the windows. Two floors down, on the same level that he remembered the office of Azrael’s parents to be, he stopped as he passed wide open doors.  
Standing at the balustrade of a large balcony was Laylah, seemingly staring off into space.  
On one hand, he could not stand the sight of her. She had cost him his lover for half a decade and more importantly, his daughter her mother. On the other, according to Azrael she had started it with good intentions and things had just gone beyond her control. For Azrael’s sake, he probably at some point should get on friendly footing with her, but not right now.  
“Should I be concerned that you are staring at me, War?” The female angel looked over her shoulder at him.  
“Not yet.” He moved to stand beside her. “Azrael told me.”  
“I’d be concerned if he did not.” She smiled lightly. “He loves you dearly. I hope you did not tire of him already?”  
“I was hungry.” His voice turned into a light snarl in indignation.   
“He mentioned that, yes.” The female angel pushed away from the balustrade. “Well, I better not keep you from your sustenance then, Rider. Azrael would not look kindly upon me should I cause you to starve.”


	5. Chapter 4

“I’m back.” War greeted his lover when he arrived in the angel’s room with half a bread.   
Azrael smiled lightly at that, sitting upright on the bed. “I was about to start looking if you lost your way.” He got up, crossing the room to his mate.  
“I ran into your mother on the way down.” The Nephilim wrapped one arm around the angel, pulling the slender body close against his. “We talked a bit.”  
“She didn’t lose a wing or something, did she?” The scholar whispered as the Rider kissed him.  
“Not yet.” War smirked lightly. “I’ll give her a chance.”  
“Thanks.” Azrael moved back, pulling the heavier male to the bed. “Shall we go to sleep now that you are fed as well?”  
“Looking at you like that, I’d much rather do something else.” The bulkier male followed, caressing the silken skin of the other. “My beautiful angel...” He purred, lips finding those of his lover.  
The mystic chuckled at that, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck. “As much as I missed you these last few years, I think some sleep would be preferable...” He bit his own lips lightly. “I want to get to Grace as soon as possible.”  
The smirk changed into a surprisingly gentle smile. “Very well, sleep it is.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Grace was completely distraught... which meant her uncles and aunt were not happy at all. After Metatron had brought War some kind of scroll, the youngest Nephilim had disappeared. The young girl had spend the night in Death’s bed.  
“I’m murdering him when he comes back.” Death muttered while watching the class Puppy was currently teaching. Grace was sitting in the back, looking forlorn. “Honestly. I don’t care what he needs to do that requires this secrecy.”  
“Says the one whose motto is ‘never tell’...” Strife pointed out dryly.  
“Not when someone is this traumatized!” The fact he actually deigned his eldest with an answer to his needling showed how upset the Firstborn Nephilim was about the situation. “She cannot handle this after losing Azrael.”  
“Who can’t handle what?” Another voice came from further down the hallway. War meandered down the thick carpet. “Grace’s already in class? Things took a bit longer than expected.”  
“A bit longer?” Death hissed when getting over his shock. “Do you have any idea how upset she was when you just disappeared!?”  
“I didn’t want to upset her by telling where I was going in case things didn’t work out.” The younger Nephilim pushed his elders aside, moving into the classroom. A wail greeted him, followed by a child-shaped missile smashing into his chest. “Hello, my little cloud.”  
“Where were you!?” The eleven-year-old demanded with a small wail.  
“I had to do something important.” War waved Puppy off, leaving the room with his child. “I didn’t want to upset you.”  
“But why did you leeeaaave?” Grace whimpered as her father put her down, offering her his hand. Sniffling, she took it.  
“I had to get a surprise for you.” The Red Rider led her through the fortress, ignoring his siblings. He knew they were always loath to start arguing in front of his daughter so for as long as she was with him, he was dodging a lecture. “But as said, I wasn’t sure it would work out, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”  
She followed him to the exit silently after that.  
“I hope you’ll like it.” War smiled down at her, opening the doors. “It’s over with Ruin.” He pointed to the flaming horse a short distance from the massive doors.  
The young half-angel looked up, her eyes widening as another, even louder wail ripped from her lips as she shot forward before even really registering what she had seen.   
The form she had propelled herself against barely had time to brace, hitting the horse behind him with the force she impacted. “Well, hello there...” Azrael wrapped his arms and wings around the girl. “I guess someone missed me.”  
His daughter just nodded, burying her tear-streaked face in his robes. “Dun leave...”  
“I won’t.” The scholar sat down on the ground. “I’m staying now. I’m staying now...” He pulled her closer, tears starting in his eyes as well. “I’m staying...” His voice broke as he clung to his child.


	6. Chapter 5

The lessons of Puppy were quite forgotten after that. They moved everything into the central courtyard, where there was enough space for everyone to cluster around the Archangel. Grace had calmed down after a good while, though she still clung to her mother with every ounce of strength her paternal heritage afforded her.  
War was talking, telling his siblings of everything that had happened both that morning and the day beforehand. Fury refused to believe that he had not killed anyway during the course of it.  
“You do have a horrible track-record with the White City recently, you know.” She pointed out, sitting opposite of her youngest brother and his small family. Her mouth-corner quirked when noting that Azrael had half-encased War in one wing. “Almost every time you visit the White City, people die or nearly do.”  
“Well, not this time, thank you very much.” War was equally possessive, his gauntlet wrapped around Azrael’s waist.  
“I still place my doubts at our parents suddenly being all positive about this.” Caim spoke up, sitting on Azrael’s other side. When his younger sibling had arrived, the elder brother had hugged him and only quite reluctantly let go again. “They called a ‘Puer Sacramentum’, for Creator’s sake!”  
“And we already covered why they did that.” Azrael whispered, looking at his Fallen sibling. “Besides... they kept your things, Caim.”  
“My... things?” Almost automatically, his eyes flitted outside to where some of his company where watching the family-reunion.  
“A good part of your favourite clothes, some odds-and-ends – including several drawings I made for you back in the day – and... well, they have your sword too.”  
For that, the black-haired angel had no answer. “That was broken. I saw it broken... right in front of me.” He had really liked that sword, but if   
someone Fell, it was ‘tradition’ to destroy all possessions.  
“They reforged it.” The scholar added. “Shortly after finding out exactly why you Fell, apparently. Dad... dad told me that mother had been devastated. Especially after several guards dared assume they could just take your things for the burning.”  
“She tried to obliterate me from up-high.” His voice had started faltering, growing quiet.  
“Her son she had thought – and in a certain way, considering how Hell can be, hoped – dead suddenly revealed himself with clear intent to have her kill him after someone else nearly killed her husband – need I remind you how long they have been together?” Azrael tightened his hold on Grace as he said that. “How would you expect her to react? Take it calmly?”  
His brother said nothing in answer, turning away from his sibling. Said sibling leaned against his mate.  
“Anyway...” War tightened his hold. “We had a short chat with them before returning here, part of why it took us so long to get back.” He smiled lightly. “Apparently, Azrael is with child again.” The mystic in his arm grew flustered at that, not helped by the knowing smirks of the Nephilim across of him. “Being highly emotional is apparently his trigger for that.”  
“Well, excuse me for being happy...” The scholar moved his wings a couple times to smooth down the feathers. “This does mean that we have to marry before that becomes apparent, otherwise the whole mess will start all over again.”  
“’Marry’?” Death echoed, leaning forward a bit. “Let me guess, it’s about needlessly complicated as it can get?”  
“For one of Azrael’s standing, the ceremonies will take the better part of several days...” Caim spoke up in amusement, though he was still not looking at his sibling. “Even if our parents cut what they can, you’ll be there for three at the least.”  
“You’re coming too, you know.” Azrael dryly pointed out. “You’re my brother. You can damn well attend my wedding.”  
“I’m Fallen.” The Commander spread his wings to showcase the black feathers. “I don’t think I can just walk into the White City.”  
“You can as a guest being there for me.” War supported his mate. “You are the Commander of my forces, so to speak. It would be strange if you were not there.”  
Instead of seeming happy, the Fallen flinched at that.  
“I will need guard for my visits while planning.” Azrael declared serenely. “I’ll be taking you.”  
“You’re leaving again?” Grace whispered at that.  
“For short visits. You can come, if you wish.” Her mother moved his free wing, closing it around her.  
“Dun wanna.” The girl shook her head, burying her face in his clothes.


	7. Chapter 6

Caim only reluctantly followed his brother to the outpost their parents had controlled since time immemorial. The white-winged scholar set down on the stone pathway leading up to the tower. His black-winged brother touched behind him, his wings twitching at the sight of the guards filling the airspace.   
Apparently the demons had started pushing Heaven’s boundaries, attacking a small outpost on the very edges of the White City’s sphere of influence. Considering this outpost held the largest collection of relics and two of the remaining angelic Firstborn, he could see why security had been upgraded. Not that he liked having to deal with a small squadron worth of unFallen angels.  
“Will you calm down?” Azrael looked in amusement at his sibling. “No one’s going to stab you.”  
“Did you tell them that?” Caim stayed close beside the other male. “I’m a Fallen, Azrael. I do not belong here. This is the epitome of purity.”  
“I’m sure we all know even Firstborn are not without their sins.” The voice of their father came down from a nearby tree. The elder angel was sitting on one of the thicker branches, looking at his sons. “Your mother sends her greetings, but there were matters that required her attention so she’ll only be able to join us later if you stay that long.”  
“No problem.” The two angels on the ground watched his touch down beside them. He was in full armour, the silver segments glinting in the source-less light that characterized Heaven’s domains. Azrael rearranged his robes as they followed him. “So how much planning did she put in already?”  
“Enough to make me think your input is almost redundant.” The Firstborn smiled lightly. “She thought she’d never get some grandchildren.”  
“You do remember that two children is not a good starting-point for that?” The mystic answered dryly.   
“One child.” Caim reminded his brother. “I am dead.”  
“Considering Azrael still frowns upon necromancy; no, you aren’t.” Rahab spoke as they arrived in his office. “Take a seat while we wait for your mother.”  
“I am Fallen.” Said Fallen hissed sharply, refusing the offered chair. “You are a Firstborn.”  
“A Firstborn who had only two children in his life.” The silver-armoured male countered while Azrael watched them both. “Not to mention your mother did remind you that we had no hand in the whole concept of ‘Falling’.”  
“That does not change the fact that you should still abide by it.” Caim gestured around them. “You cannot expect us after eons – literal, eternal, bloody never-ending eons – to just ignore the laws you are meant to represent.”  
“Haniel, it might surprise you, but we stopped representing those long ago.” Rahab rose from his seat, towering over his angry child. “When the later generations went wild with them and turned them into a doctrine we never intended when we first wrote them. When we found that one of our brothers... When one of our Creator-given brothers cast our eldest, one of only two of our children from the Legions for being the smart-ass idiot he always was.”  
The two warriors were face to face now, energies rising up with their heated emotions. The mixture of pure and tainted filled the air with a scent of noxious gasses.   
“Are you certain? It certainly did not seem like that to me.” Black wings spread, raven feathers standing in stark contrast to the white ones of his father.  
“What did you expect us to do? Come down in Hell to find you? Cause a rift in the city by dividing the Firstborn at the height of our war with Hell? We did quite often point out that the greatest are also the most restrained. There are images we need to uphold, child, as you ought to remember.”  
Neither spoke after that, though Caim turned away. “Azrael said you kept my things.”  
“Some of them. Small things that would not be missed during the purge-burn.” The firstborn walked away, heading for a small space of un-occupied wall. “Including some of your works of art.”  
Caim frowned at that, glaring at his brother when he chuckled. “Of all things, you saved those?”  
“Your books hardly had sentimental value to us.” The Firstborn dragged a single finger in a complicated pattern over the wall, not reacting as the stone melted away and revealed a large white-wooden chest. “If it helps, we only saved those of your last century or two and not those from when you were a small boy?”  
“Because I burned those when I passed my first century.” The Fallen hesitated to head for the chest, even as his father returned to his seat. “You did keep showing those to everyone who visited on family-business.”  
“They were adorable.”  
“They were atrocious.” Caim slowly crossed the room, opening the chest while kneeling down beside it. Fabric of some of his clothes... Despite his father’s claims, there were some books in there... Some trinkets... and of course those thrice-accursed art-projects. In hindsight, he had to admit they were not that bad. “I used to draw uncle Michael as a collection of squiggly lines.”  
“Heaven’s artists take days to represent him.” Rahab answered dryly. “He is not the best subject for art these days.”


	8. Chapter 7

“I can see why.” Caim murmured, reaching into the box and toying with some of the objects. “I hated you...”   
“We had no hand in your Fall.” The older angel’s shoulders slumped lightly. “Your mother was devastated.”  
“Azrael mentioned that.” The Fallen angel pulled out one of his paintings, looking it over. “Must have been hard on her... First me and not a year later one of her only brothers...”  
“Debatable.” Rahab mused, before smiling as he looked out the window. “And there she is. Brace yourself, my son. She wanted to have words with you ever since the Puer Sacramentum.”  
Caim had to resist the urge to point out that legally he was no longer their son, and the elder angel should most assuredly not call him that. What would the unFallen guards outside the office think if they overheard a Firstborn claiming kinship to a Fallen?  
Completely aside from the fact that he had more sense than that, he was interrupted by his mother entering the room.  
“I was informed Azrael and his Fallen guard had arrived.” She stated, marching inside. Her eldest flinched lightly at the sight of the Rod of Arafel clutched in one hand.  
“Half an hour ago.” Her husband answered her, gesturing to where the black-winged male was sitting on the ground.  
By the time she arrived at his side, Caim had only managed to stand up halfway.  
“What exactly were you thinking!?” Despite being almost a head smaller than he – apparently she had not grown much since his Fall – she looked about ready to rip him limb from limb. “Were you honestly aiming for me to kill you!? Have you lost your mind!?”  
“I couldn’t exactly beat you.” Her son backed away, bumping into the chest.  
“You could damn well have.” The female countered, her voice a very un-angelic snarl. “There were times when you did.”  
“I don’t think I’d have survived defeating a vaunted Firstborn.” Caim threw a pleading glance at his other family for help.  
“It would have been better than having my son try and get himself killed by my hand.” Laylah whispered, anger fading to grief. “Why? Perhaps I was not the best mother, but why, Haniel? Did you truly have that little faith in me?”  
“Well, forgive me for placing more value on Azrael’s love than my tainted, Fallen ass.” He couldn’t even counter that his name was no longer Haniel, had not been Haniel for eons... “How could I not place that above myself?”  
“And you thought I would not be upset if I killed my Firstborn after everything I did for your sake!?” Her voice broke as she almost screamed it at him, four wings spread wide in anger. If not for the standard sound-dampening spells cast on the office half of the wing of the fortress would have heard her.   
“We had barely a few millennia together.” His own wings were pressed against his back. “That is nothing to an angel.”  
“Should we remind you again of the suffering your mother went through when carrying you?” Rahab softly stated, rising to join his wife and resting one hand on her shoulder. “You have no idea what happened after your Fall. You are our son. And for the longest time, you were our only child.”  
“I...” The Fallen backed away a bit, unable to meet the eyes of his parents.  
“It never should have come to this.” His mother murmured, turning away from them. “I never...” Her wings wrapped around her body.  
Her son deflated while looking at her. He struggled with himself, before reaching out. “Sorry... mom.”  
She answered him with a weak smile. “Well, enough of this. We are supposed to plan a wedding here.” She shook her wings open, walking over to Azrael. “Finally a wedding. After eons...” The female Firstborn threw her hands into the air. “I have great-to-the-infinity-degree-nieces-and-nephews and only now one of my children deigns to give me grandchildren.”  
“Oh Creator, she’s still on about that?” Caim dryly whispered to his father. He snorted when the older male gave him an amused nod.  
“It’s bad enough that I am near infertile.” The shortest of the group had heard him. “I am the Archangel of Conception and have only two descendants! It’s quite frankly embarrassing.”  
“That’s not our fault.” Caim muttered darkly.   
“Considering how hard it is for me to conceive, I was kind of counting on you two making up for it.” She flew over, patting his shoulder. “So do you have some kids around?”  
“Mother!” The Fallen exclaimed in exasperation. “We have literally been talking for half an hour and you’re already pestering me about that?”  
“Well, it’s been eons since our last talk.” She countered, sighing lightly. “But I’ll stop for now.”  
“Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 8

The wedding was set for two months later, as that was roughly the latest where Azrael’s pregnancy could be effectively hidden. No one felt like having another Puer Sacramentum over the relationship of Heaven’s First Mystic and the Horsemen’s youngest member.   
Grace was still no fan of her grandparents, though she had grown more accepting of their reasoning, to at least the point they could be civil towards one another. She was however quite the fan of the dress she could wear to the wedding.  
“I’m looking forward to putting it all behind us.” War muttered darkly, looking over at his lover. “Are you sure we can’t elope?”  
“Do you really want to lose me again?” The angel looked at him, combing his wings. “It’ll just be ‘unbefitting conduct’ all over again.” It was the day before the start of the four-day ceremony that would see them wed in the way of the angels.  
“Your brother said it would only be three. Where did that fourth day come from?” The Nephilim demanded, moving through the room to caress his mate’s bare shoulder.   
“The fact that I am officially their 'firstborn’.” The scholar reached over to take the hand in his own. “It adds some ceremony. You did mention I was worth anything…”  
“And I stand by that.” The warrior smiled down lightly. “Just annoyed they pulled a whole day from somewhere. Did they ever say who would presiding?”   
“One of their siblings. Firstborn don’t preside ceremonies of their own children.” Azrael chuckled. “Scared they’ll talk extra slow?”  
“Knowing angels, I wouldn’t even be that surprised.” War smirked. “Come to bed, my bird. I’d like some private time to carry me through the next four days.”  
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/   
“I take it back, this outfit is worse.” War felt like someone robbed Abaddon’s closet and had given him the result. “I look ridiculous.” He looked over his shoulder at the Fallen behind him. “How are the wings coming along?”  
“Almost done.” Azazel grinned widely. The mad smith of the Fallen had been ecstatic when the Horseman had requested his aid in making fake wings. If War had to do this, he’d do it properly and that included wings. “Just some last adjustments so they don’t fall off half-way through the ceremonies.” Aside from Caim, none of the Fallen could be invited and instead would prepare a gigantic party for after Heaven’s festivities. Not that War was planning on attending it for very long… “There, done.”  
“Thank you.” The Rider looked at the brass creations. His mouth-corner quirked upward lightly at seeing the constructs move lightly. “I’ll tell you all about the performance after we’re done.”  
He took a deep breath, heading towards where the ceremonies would start.   
“You look magnificent.” War greeted Azrael, looking his lover over. “And here I thought your regular robes were fancy.”  
“Formal attire.” Azrael turned around to look at the Nephilim. His eyes widened when falling on the wings behind his significant other. “You…” The angel reached out slowly, carefully touching the metal feathers. He pulled his hand back when War moved it. “How…?”  
“Making Azazel very happy.” War took the hand in his own. “Like them?”  
“They are wonderful.” The mystic smiled widely at his lover. “Can they actually hold your weight?”  
“Not for a high-speed chase out of here. But they should be able to keep me aloft.” War pulled on the fur draped over his shoulders, before pressing a quick kiss to the angel’s cheek.  
“I saw that, War. Your wings are not that wide, I fear.” Rahab pointed out in amusement, alighting next to them. “Your mother will be here soon, I have been assured.”  
“Will you finally share who will preside?” Azrael asked, leaning into the possessive hand that had settled on his hip.  
“Your uncle.” The Firstborn male smiled lightly at the flat glare his son graced him with. “Your mother is dragging him here. Where’s Haniel, by the by?”  
“Caim is with my siblings.” The Nephilim gestured with his head to the side. “I thought all of yours were here?” He had been introduced to the other Angelic Firstborn during the preparations and he hoped he remembered them well enough not to mistake another for them. Then again, they were so seemingly under-dressed compared to the other guests it was hard to miss them.  
“Not that one.” Azrael’s father stated, nodding to the entrance. Only now War realized that a hush had been falling over the gathering. Turning, he first saw Laylah - dressed in a purely feather-dress - and then a giant ball of feathers. It actually took him a moment to realize that beside his soon-to-be mother-in-law was a collection of wings and vague wing-shaped feather-covered tentacles. The form would have dwarfed a Trauma as it floated at roughly angel-height above the floor. Between them and the door, angels actually kneeled the moment their eyes touched the form.  
Laylah seemed equally amused and perturbed at that as she turned to the form and said something. In answer, the wings rippled and started to part, revealing a burning light at their center. Part of War wanted to get away - probably his demonic part - when the feathered appendages revealed a form ablaze in holy light. After a bit, the light dimmed to leave a lithe male dressed in what looked to be an elaborate skirt. His upper body was bare save for a few small feathered tentacles wrapped around it.  
“You got Michael to preside?” Azrael demanded of his father, spreading his wings to cross the room to join his mother and the new arrival. “I thought he was asleep.”  
“Your mother nagged him awake.” Rahab chuckled.


	10. Chapter 9

“I thought Michael was dead.” Death had heard Azrael’s statement, now walking over to join Rahab and War. He and the other Horsemen had of course heard of the exploits of this particular angel, but assumed him dead as no more news of him had come from Heaven for eons now.  
“Might as well have been.” Rahab looked over the kneeling angels, something akin to distaste ever so briefly flashing over his face. “He sleeps for years, briefly wakes up and falls asleep again. We believe his excessive wing-growth might have something to do with that.” He gestured to the myriad of wings lightly curling around his glowing brother. “We stopped counting after 200. That was around the time Haniel ‘died’.”  
“Didn’t he defeat and humiliate the Dark Prince?” Fury wondered softly, one hand rubbing her arm with the discomfort of the holy light. “Something about stealing his armour as a trophy?”  
“It’s on display in the lower levels of his tower.” Metatron joined them. “At least your ploy of having him be the bigger talk than War seems to be working.” He seemed as annoyed as his brother at the deference the younger angels showed towards the other Firstborn, Azrael excluded. War’s betrothed was talking quite happily with his uncle and mother, one of the feathered tentacles lightly coiled around his body. “I think most have clear forgotten that this is a wedding and not a show for Michael.”  
War looked as the two-winged male spread his wings again, rejoining them. “Shall we then?”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
What followed would be the four days of his life where War felt his patience be the most tested. The ceremonies lasted for hours on end – and he couldn’t fidget – and outside of the ceremonies, he couldn’t get a single moment with Azrael. As a matter of fact, by the third day Azrael’s ‘shall we then’ had been the last words they had been able to exchange. But he refused to show any of his annoyance regarding this. He had sworn himself that he would make the angels regret that they assumed him unworthy of Azrael.   
Though he was sorely tested during every morning when their titles had to be rattled off. He learned that Azrael had far more titles than he had ever expected... and that the angels had gone onto a spree to think up some for him. At least, he had never heard some of those Michael gave him.  
He also suspected that Strife used the existence of his helmet to nap.  
By the end of the fourth day, he could hardly wait until it was all over and done with. The moment they had been declared spouses and the bond had been formed – Creator, that had been uncomfortable – he had very unsubtly given Azrael the hint he wanted to get the Hell out of there. The scholar had obliged five hours later, after they had received all of their gifts.  
They only briefly showed their faces on the party of the Fallen, spend an hour with Grace and then War’s patience was truly at its’ end...  
“Bedroom. Now.”   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Did you have to bring some of the gifts?” War demanded with vague amusement when they arrived in their room.  
“Considering both had notes saying ‘for tonight’, yes, I might as well.” The scholar smiled gently, putting the two boxes on the desk before he walked over to War. “I know what is in them. Mom and Strife rather pointedly hinted at it. You’ll like them.”  
“I’ll trust you.” The Nephilim pulled him close, plundering his mouth. The angel pressed their bodies together, clinging to his husband. “Anything we’d need before business?”  
“Yes...” Azrael pulled back, walking back to the desk while slowly shedding the many layers of his wedding outfit. “Strife said it would look really nice on me. Mom bluntly told me it was an enchanted bracelet.”  
War followed him with a small smirk, wrapping his arm around the now only legging-clad hips. “Let me see what Strife gave you. I’d rather not have you wear demon-skin. Creator knows he’d have no problem ruining this for me.”  
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” The angel stated, but did offer the box to his husband. “I’ll put on Mom’s bracelet while you look.”  
“What’s so special about it anyway?”  
“It’s imbued with the spell we regularly use.” Azrael fitted the golden band around his wrist with a small blush creeping up his neck. “Saves me from having to chant it the entire time.”  
“Handy.” War felt blood flood his own cheeks when seeing the content of what Strife had gifted them. “That mother-f...” The older Nephilim had given him an outfit the pleasure-slaves of their people used to wear.  
“It’s just clothes.” Azrael mused when looking into the box as well. “Skimpy, granted...” He reached out, pulling on the fabric. “Shall I wear it?”  
“Please don’t.” The wingless male muttered. “Not... not tonight.”  
“Alright.” The Archangel took the box, putting it aside. “Now, will you undress or do I have to do it? You were the one being impatient earlier, remember?”  
“I’m not alone, apparently.” War smirked, shedding his own clothes while crossing the distance between them. “Well then, my angel, let’s start. I have no intention of going easy on you tonight.”  
Azrael backed away, wrapping his wings around the bulkier male when they hit the wall. “I would have been offended if you did.” The smaller male smiled lightly. “Besides, someone still needs to redo the Mark...”


	11. Chapter 10

That night, War made very sure that Azrael would never be satisfied with any other lover ever again. Giving into long-repressed instincts, the Nephilim took the angel with every bit of passion he could possibly feel… it was nearing dawn when he finally was sated.  
As Azrael had to return to his punishment of ‘visiting Heaven’s domains only once a year’, his parents visited roughly once a month. Every time they did, the Fallen vacated the premises, much to the Firstborns’ annoyance at the pedestal the later generations had put them upon. It only improved after an incident during Azrael’s seventh month. War had requested their presence and as such, they had broken the pattern of their previous visits. Puppy, the young scholar who had Fallen only six years ago, had gotten the notice late and upon his flight had flown into the Firstborn female. He had feared being blasted into kingdom come, instead receiving motherly concern of whether he was unharmed from falling onto the ground. It slowly broke the ice between the two elder angels and the company of their firstborn son. Shortly before the Archangel was due, the reason of War’s frequent visits to the White City became clear; with another child on the way, the Nephilim had remembered his trepidation regarding a small baby - and to a lesser extent, his fragile scholar-mate - with his gauntlet and had arranged for the limb to be restored.   
To the surprise of his siblings, Strife and Caim’s 'friends with benefits’-relationship kept going strong even after Azrael’s return, contrary to the history of the Gunner with his previous partners.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
The second child of War and Azrael was another daughter, whom they decided to name Gabriel. Death sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be like with their first child where the Fallen also got half a dozen children in celebration. Laylah assured him it’d only be three this time around, one of which would be birthed by Naamah as the child of her and Gremory.  
The Firstborn seemed oblivious to the intense scrutiny the Fallen’s healer subjected her to. During the party following Gabriel’s birth, the second-oldest company-member found the chance to ask the question that had been burning in a corner of her mind ever since her Fall.  
“Why?” The two of them had ended up alone in the kitchen, the rest being either outside in the central garden or up on the tower.   
“Why what?” Laylah looked over her shoulder at the healer, putting down the bottle of wine she had just opened.   
“I think you can imagine, my Lady.” Gremory held the plate of fresh meat tightly. “Why did you involve yourself in my trail? I should have suffered far worse than banishment for attempting to kill a General. It was treason, dereliction of my duty as healer, not to mention that Heaven’s laws make no difference between an attempted murder that succeeded and one that failed.” She straightened her back while facing the mother of her commander. “So why did you mitigate my sentence to banishment?”  
The older female regarded her for a while, before turning to face her fully. “Do you mind?”  
“Of course not.” The healer shook her head. “Between banishment and what would have been a true Fall into Hell or death, only a fool would choose a Fall. But why? I was certainly not the first to commit attempted murder, nor the last. Yet you interfered for me.”  
The Firstborn snorted at that. “You want the truth, Fallen? Because I could hardly let you carry the full punishment for an attempted crime another walked free from after succeeding.”  
Orange eyes narrowed at that. “What?”  
“My brother cast my eldest son from the Legions for being the smartass with morals he always had been and to cover his own incompetency.” The Firstborn turned around, taking the two filled glasses for herself and her husband. “Do you think I appreciated that any more than you did that General sending your husband and son to their deaths?”  
“You… killed him!?” She had wanted to scream it, but Gremory found that she did not have the breath. Her mind was reeling with the mere thought that a Firstborn would kill another.  
“Of course.” The four-winged female stated without any emotion. “He knew how hard it is for me to conceive - Creator, he was one of the first telling Rahab to find himself a female more suited to starting a Lineage - and despite that he essentially killed one of my two children over his own pride.” A humorless smile appeared on her face. “His face when he saw me toting a Redemption-cannon while under an illusion to look like a demon was priceless. He should have realized that even I have an end to my patience.”  
The younger female looked like a fish on dry land, even as the older female headed to the door.   
“Why did you just tell me that?” Gremory finally managed to croak out when the four-winged angel was opening the door to rejoin her husband outside.  
“You asked.” Laylah looked over her shoulder at the younger female. “And should you tell; who would believe you over me? The only ones who see Firstborn as living, breathing beings capable of such base things are other Firstborn… and they already know.” She left the Healer inside, rejoining Rahab while looking like nothing had strange had happened inside.


	12. Chapter 11

The angelic side of the small family very quickly declared that little Gabriel was the spitting image of her mother, almost being exactly like Azrael when he had been her age. Unlike her elder sister, she slept easily and was more than content just to nest near her mother as the angelic scholar read books out loud.  
Grace meanwhile grew quickly, her wings almost returning to their former white splendour. Only someone who had seen her before the entire Puer Sacramentum-debacle would have been able to see that they were just a touch greyer than they had been. By the time she had grown into a young woman, it was clear she had inherited the beauty of angels and her father’s fearsome capabilities with a sword.  
On her sixteenth birthday, her father gifted her with a sword forged by the Makers. Azrael looked in vague amusement as the five-year-old Gabriel seemed to want nothing to do with the object.  
The scholar watched the young angel flutter over to two of her uncles who had remained at the edge of the celebration, insisting that they pick her up. It was Strife who indulged her, though she insisted on clinging to Caim as well. The two only looked mildly annoyed at that.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Strife was laying on the top of one of the more or less unused towers, looking up at the new dome they had made. With the numbers of the fortress’ inhabitants steadily increasing, they had decided to enlarge the area covered by the protective wards. It was now covered an area the size of a large island. The more mystically inclined had ensured normal plants and animals could grow and the fortress was now in the centre of a large forest. In fact, several of the Fallen had banded together and started a substantial farm in the south.  
The White Rider sighed, letting his head fall backwards against the clay roof-tiles. He should have known that this peace was too good to last. Closing his eyes, he considered the day; apparently, the wards had been completely redone, requiring all inhabitants to have – essentially – their access redone. Something Death had told him to pass on to Caim... the one time the Gunner had not been paying attention to what the Firstborn Nephilim had been saying. Cue the Fallen Commander ‘bouncing back’ when he tried to teleport back from an assignment. Now more or less everyone was angry with him.  
He sat back up, getting up to stretch himself. He tilted his head when seeing Grace, one of her friends and the youngest batch of children head out. Guess they were going to play on the grasslands. Perhaps he could join them. Gabriel certainly cheered up when seeing him.  
He took a small running start, jumping from the roof. Halfway down he summoned Regret – speak of a fitting name at the moment – and the two landed gracefully on the ground.  
They managed to follow the group with a healthy canter, the small angels not being able to fly faster than a firm jog.  
“Uncle!” He promptly had a small girl hang around his neck. She flapped her wings a few times to settle on his shoulders.  
“Hello there.” The Gunner patted her knee. “Off to gather more flowers?”  
“Nah, we’re heading to the river.” His older niece drifted to beside his horse, her dress floating around her form. “Teaching them how to fish.”  
“Now that’s a good idea.” Strife smirked lightly at Regret’s annoyance when all four youngsters settled down on her back. “Oh come on, Regret, I’ll not make you run with them all, how about that?” There were some sad angel-sounds at that statement, causing the Nephilim to chuckle.   
“What about when only all four are on her?” Grace mused, the wind of her large wings ruffling the small feathers covering the children’s wings. “That saves weight, I bet.”  
Regret snorted at that and Gabriel giggled. “You wound me, Grace.” Strife stated in mock horror. “Now, did any of you ever learn how to hunt fish with guns?”


	13. Chapter 12

Strife watched the small girl bob along with the log she was sitting on. “You better get your sister, Grace. There’s a waterfall in ten miles.”  
“Eh.” War’s firstborn was sitting on Regret, legs crossed at she scratched the horse’s neck. “Got ten miles before she gets there then.”  
“And only like a hundred yards before she hits the shields.” The White Rider pointed out over the giggles of his youngest niece. “Gabriel, get off of that.”  
“Nah.” The small girl laughed now, waving at her family.  
“I guess she’s having one of Azrael’s rambunctious moments...” The Nephilim sighed theatrically. “I’m going to have come get you, don’t I?” He called after the girl, who kept waving. At least the water was slow... Theoretically he could just keep walking beside it until the waterfall made the girl come off that log on her own.  
“Well, you are the responsible adult.” Grace quite unhelpfully pointed out.  
“If we’re going by Nephilim-standards, that’s actually you.” Her uncle countered dryly, walking over to the white horse. “You earned your name, are an adult and are closer related to her than me.” He took off his mask, bapping it against the angelic leg. “Now please give me my horse so I can get her.” Regret did not sound amused at the thought of wading through the water. “Sorry darling, Fury still didn’t give me one of her whips.”  
“But me and Regret like it here.” Grace countered, feigning mock-hurt at her uncle. “It’s Ladies’ Night, don’t you know?”   
“Are you sure you’re War’s and not mine?” The black-haired male snorted, before solving his little problem by unsummoning Regret and then promptly resummoning her two feet away. Grace yelped when she did not manage to break her short fall and landed on the sandy shore of the river. Regret whinnied briefly in annoyance when her rider gracefully jumped on her back. “Now come help me get your little sister before she drifts down the waterfall.”  
“I can child-abuse.” The light-red clad female spread her wings to follow her family-member. “Let’s hope Yeqon can deal with the other three on his own.” She smirked when seeing the face Regret made at having to jump into the chest-high waters.  
“I’ll get you some treats, how’s that?” Strife asked the mare, before looking over his shoulder at the four Fallen-children. “It’s only a little bit, Grace. Creator, and then Death complained about me.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“Enjoying yourself?” War demanded of his lover. The angel was sitting on his lap, peppering kisses over the Nephilim’s neck.  
“Never.” The scholar purred. “As if you are not doing it.”  
“It has been a while.” The Red Rider agreed, caressing the form on his legs. “If anything, my siblings cannot complain about a lack of patience on my end at least.”  
“Indeed.” The slender male sat up to start opening his robes. “Though I fear we won’t be able to do everything.” At his husband’s questioning glance, he chuckled. “You do exhaust me, Rider. How would Gabriel react to her mother napping when she is not allowed anymore?”  
“Ah yes, we do really need to work on your stamina.” The Horseman snorted, pulling the angel flush against his body. “Mayhap during the camping-trip?” War grinned at his spouse while assisting him in throwing the robes aside.  
“I thought we were taking the girls along for that?” Azrael wrapped his arms around the Nephilim’s head, combing his long hair with his fingers.  
“A different trip then.” The male at the bottom playfully nipped the slender neck in front of his face. “You, me, a tent and a week of free time in some corner of the Maker’s world.”  
“Or maybe that one island on Earth?” Azrael leaned his head back to give the other better access. “The one where Caim’s company was?”  
“An option too.” The Horseman growled lightly, sneaking his hand under his lover’s tunic. “We’ll see.”   
“Yes...” Heaven’s finest mystic hissed, leaning into the touch. Only to nearly jump from his seat when someone slammed their balcony-door.  
Caim was standing in the opening, wings and eyes wide open. “Demons have attacked. Grace and Gabriel are outside the shield-dome.”


	14. Chapter 13

A few moments after his brother-in-law had interrupted the moment he had been having with his mate, War arrived downstairs in full armour, calling loudly for his siblings. Fury and Death were already waiting, Caim having send Kunopegos – who he had been talking to when he had been informed – to warn the two Riders. No one knew where Strife had gone after the incident that morning.  
Mere minutes later the three were riding for the river while Caim summoned more of his Fallen to assist. Despite being a scholar rather than a warrior, Azrael insisted on joining.  
They did not need to bother with tracking the two girls upon arrival at the river; a trail of demons lead deeper into the gorges and canyons the river passed through after the shield. They did not bother checking how they had died, though the fact that many were torn to pieces implicated the local wildlife. War felt his heart contract when realizing that the demons were chasing his daughters straight to manticore-terrority and he was not even sure whether Grace took her sword for defence.  
He felt like a Watcher was contracting his chest when the demon-corpses stopped, forcing the three Riders to slow down so they could track the wildlife that apparently had kept chasing the two angels even after the demons had fled back to Hell. At least that allowed the angels to catch up to them.   
“Now it would have been nice to have Strife around.” Fury was leaning down from her horse. “He’s the better tracker, by far.”  
“No time to mourn that one now.” Death followed her while looking up at the Fallen. “Caim! Tell your Fallen to split up!”  
Azrael’s brother nodded, with a few gestures sending groups of four out in different directions. The two Archangels flew straight ahead.   
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
A good distance away, Grace was sheltering her little sister in a small crevice that was too small for the creatures trying to get to them outside. Granted, none came remotely close enough to even try reaching for them.  
Strife was standing in front of the opening, using the one gun he had brought to kill any who dared.  
Regret had been de-summoned, the mare having been wounded by some of the beasts – Strife had been furious and unloaded two clips into the one responsible. Even now, there was already a small pile of corpses.  
The half-angel briefly looked down on her sister. The youngest child of War and Azrael was burying her face in the dress of her sibling. True to her Nephilim-nature, little Gabriel did not make a sound, but she was trembling.  
Grace wrapped her wings around the small form, bemoaning forgetting her sword.  
Her eyes snapped up when hearing rending metal. They widened when seeing her uncle be smashed against the rock wall just beside the opening.  
The black-haired Nephilim snarled, frost slowly covering the area around him.  
“I really didn’t want to do this without Mercy, but alas…” A small, local and yet deadly fierce icestorm briefly surrounded the Gunner, freezing some of the beasts outright. Inside of it, his form grew to tower even over War’s Chaosform. Grace had seen the more powerful form of her father only once, but she knew instinctively what her Uncle turned into.  
Ice briefly coated her wings as the bipedal, wingless dragon roared at the creatures in front of it. Jagged ice protruded from the dark blue-grey skin of his shoulders and hips and freezing air came from his gaping maw.  
Despite sending several of the lesser beasts running, it seemed as if the form was unstable, leaking cold in several places. Grace realized in horror why; Nephilim need their bonded weapons to hold their more powerful forms… Strife lacked one of his, having left Mercy at the fortress and Redemption alone was useless in helping maintain this form. She could even see it on the ground under some ice. It was quite a feat he had managed to turn to begin with. She only hoped that the form would outlast those of the creatures that were still there.  
Several died to wild swings, contact with the form causing ice to appear that penetrated deep into their flesh. Indeed, for a few moments, it seemed as if Grace’s hopes would be warranted and Strife’s form would outlast his opponents. Seeing several of the others deep-frozen, many turned tail.  
The only warning of their changing fortunes was a deep ping-like sound followed by whooshing air. The massive form protecting the two angels turned to the sound, backing away some.  
It was no use.   
A pair of the aerial top-predators had been alerted to the slaughter and the food it provided. Instead of waiting for the fighting to be over, they had instead chosen to get fresh meat: the pair had picked the half-ice dragon that was the second oldest of the Horsemen.  
Sharp horns, evolved specifically to penetrate even the toughest hide would normally not even bother a Chaos-form Nephilim. But Strife was not in a proper form… and as such the two managed to do the impossible and bury their horns in the Nephilim.  
Strife’s voice was disturbingly like the one he regularly had when he screamed in agony. He managed to beat them away from him, breaking the horns off and killing the two creatures. He now truly fell apart, ice breaking off as the form faded into snow and a decidedly humanoid form started falling to the ground.


	15. Chapter 14

War felt only dread while they tried following the trails. After a bit it had become impossible to follow the particular trails of the creatures that had chased his daughters. It was forcing them to ride blindly and hope for the best.  
The best was not very good as they hadn’t seen a sign of them for a while now. Was this some kind of karma for having a happy time in his life!? It certainly seemed like every time he had some happy times, something bad happened. But why did it have to be to his daughters of all things!?  
“War.” Death sharply stated, yanking his brother from his thoughts. “I can certainly imagine how worried you are right now, but concentrate.”  
“Grace and Gabriel are out there somewhere… probably dead by now.” The Red Rider snarled. “My daughters are probably dead, Death. I am beyond worry right now.”  
“They aren’t dead yet.” Fury countered, though her hand was as tight on her reins as War was on his. “Not until we find their bodies. There is still a chance.”  
“You know what kind of creatures live here, Fury.” War felt his throat tighten. “There is no way they survived this long without help… even if Grace remembered her sword.” His voice broke just a bit when he said that.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
It was perhaps half an hour later that a portal opened above them. Azrael appeared in the sky, swooping down with far less grace than he normally used.  
War felt his heart stop when seeing that the angel was covered in blood. “No…” He would have spared his lover having to be the one to find their daughters’ corpses. Yet, he didn’t look so much heartbroken as he looked frantic. “Azrael?”  
The scholar didn’t answer, merely casting out his magics to form another portal beneath their feet… or rather, the hooves of their steeds. The horses pranced on the spot when they suddenly found themselves inside of the main wing of the fortress.  
Grief was the first to notice the fourth horse present. Regret, the only mare, was resting on the ground in a corner. Two of the lesser healers of the Fallen were attending three deep wounds on her side. Within moments, the three stallions were restless beneath their riders.  
“What happened?” Fury jumped down from her black stallion, allowing the horse to move as it wanted. Azrael however was already halfway down the hallway to the right.  
“Details later, follow me.” The angel called over his shoulder, using the fact that he needed to walk to cast aside most of his bloody clothes.  
“Did you find the girls? Are they alright?” Following the Archangel, Death couldn't help himself. It had been a while ago he had saw the angel this stressed.  
“Yes and no, but they are not my main concern right now.” Azrael answered sharply. They were moving quickly, but far too slowly for his tastes.   
“What's your main concern, then?” Fury demanded, jogging after her brother-in-law.   
Azrael ignored her and though it broke his heart, he bypassed Gremory and his crying daughters, heading straight for the main medical room. “How is he?” He demanded while throwing the door open unceremoniously. War hesitated briefly beside his daughters before following his mate.  
Death stood frozen the moment he saw who was lying on the bed; Strife. Blood pooled under the second oldest Nephilim and bright blue energies – which War recognized as the time-magics he had used back on earth – covered him. Worse was the sight of his back… Propped up on his side, they could clearly see two massive stabwounds in his abdomen. If not for the breaking of the Seals and the time-stop, the Gunner would have been long dead.   
The Firstborn Nephilim walked in a daze to his brother and knelt near him. “Strife? What happened?”  
“Take his head.” Azrael half-snarled at the eldest Nephilim instead of answering, having taken position near the short-haired Rider’s head. “I will transfer some of his wounds to you. You can survive these, he can't.”  
Without any hesitation, Death did as demanded and braced himself for what would no doubt be an uncomfortable experience.  
Waving his brother away from holding the timestop, the Gatekeeper held one hand over Strife, the other clutching Death's arm. Chanting spells beyond the scope of most mystics, angelic or otherwise, at first it seemed nothing happened. But then, ever so slowly, one of the wounds on the Gunner's chest started to close as at the same time one on the Reaper's chest opened in exactly the same spot. Wound after wound passed through his mind, agony blooming. He pushed the pain aside, focusing on the sight of Strife slowly being healed. That was all that mattered.  
Grinding his teeth behind his mask, Death tried to bear it all. It didn't matter he had impressive healing abilities, this was no stroll in the park by a fair margin. Nevertheless he held on Strife's head. He actually snarled as more wounds appeared on his body.  
“Are you sure it's not too much?” Fury whispered, looking between her two elder brothers. Strife was looking infinitely better – which was not that hard – at the cost of Death looking like he had passed through a meat-grinder.  
After a while, when Caim was sure that Strife could survive with the aid of normal healers, he touched his brother on his shoulder. “You can stop now, Azrael. More, and you two will overexhaust yourselves!”  
He was answered by Azrael collapsing, for a moment blacking out in exhaustion.  
Fury had been near, catching the angel and carefully lowering him the rest of the way.  
“I'm fine...” The scholar weakly assured her, already trying to get back to his feet again.


	16. Chapter 15

“He’ll survive.” Gremory stated after checking the Gunner over. “It’ll take him a good while to recover, but he will in time.”  
“Thank goodness…” Fury deflated a bit. “Creator, what did he run into out there that he ended up like that?” She gestured to the unconscious male on the table.  
“He got himself in trouble again, no doubt.” Death rolled his eyes. “I swear he lives to antagonize us. I could see him kill himself just to do it.”  
“Are you sure he wouldn’t just think us relieved?” War wondered dryly, walking over to the table to look at the second-oldest Nephilim.  
“Considering how much leeway he thinks we’d give him, he’d certainly think we’d be weeping or something.” The Firstborn muttered, leaning against the table.   
A second later, he was no longer there. Instead a wall of force had smashed him into the furthest wall, the air heavy with burning energies.  
“That better not have been you being serious.” Azrael had exhausted himself to heal Strife, but War’s wrath gave him new strength. Certainly enough to use his brother-in-law in an attempt to make another door to the room…  
“Azrael!” Caim actually became airborne with his shock, carrying himself back two yards with one wing-flap. “What in Heaven’s sake!?”  
“Answer me, Death.” The room became suffused with the scholar’s energies, crackling in the air and almost melting the granite floor beneath his feet as two pairs of burning orange eyes met.  
“What do you think you’re doing, angel?” Death snarled, only barely keeping from retaliating violently. “You might be War’s mate, but don’t push it.”  
“You are pushing my patience, Death.” Heaven’s finest mystic certainly did not look like it with his face having been warped into a furious grimace. “You are not worth Strife. You are not worth his dedication to you. And at this rate, you are not worth my holding back.”  
“The only thing he is dedicated to is annoying the living Hell out of us.” The Nephilim tried to push himself off of the wall, but the wrath-fuelled mate of his youngest brother was still overpowering him. Behind the angel, the others dared not interfere.   
“What of bringing me and War together? What about the Lilith-debacle? What about me entrusting my brother to him?” The Gatekeeper hissed. “What about leaving himself defenceless to give you and War some bloody ranged weapons – and don’t try to play it off, I know how much both of you needed those.” Not even letting Death get a breath in edgewise, Azrael continued. “What about always, always being the one the Council risked dying? What about nearly dying for War’s children!? Is that worth nothing to you?”  
Perhaps he would have done and said more, but Azrael was suddenly distracted by the sound of crying coming from outside the room. Gabriel, hearing her mother’s furious voice, had completely broken under the stress and was wailing for either of her parents.  
The angel promptly deflated, dropping Death to the ground while turning to rush out of the room.  
“What do you think that was about!?” Death called after him, stopping him at the doorway.  
“Perhaps you should ask your employers for that one.” The scholar stated sharply, before leaving.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“I know he said to ask them, but are you sure this is both necessary and, more importantly, even possible?” Fury demanded, looking around her. The three unwounded Horsemen had gathered at a lake of lava, the air thick with smoke. Once upon a time, three massive rock-formations had towered over the lake, but now it was flat.  
“Whatever else, Azrael was correct on enough marks I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt on the rest.” Death stated darkly while carving ancient runes into the ground in front of them. He would need every bit of power and skill he had to summon these souls. “And as such, we need to talk to our ‘employers’.”  
He sat down cross-legged. If circumstances had been even marginally different, he would have asked Azrael to once again assist him like the angel had done eons ago on the Ravaiim homeworld, but considering everything, he would not do it now.  
They waited in silence after that, War staring off into the distance while his oldest brother worked his magics. It might have well been hours until the lava started bubbling, a lone voice rumbling. “Tired of the job already, Nephilim?”  
“Most assuredly not.” Death answered as his siblings came closer. “I had to give you far more autonomy than I normally do, but you will answer me.”  
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” The bubbles came faster, as if the one making them was excited. “I see you discarded Strife? Or has he merely fallen from favour?”  
“None of your business.” The Nephilim Firstborn found it concerningly telling that the first thing they bothered with was checking for Strife. “Did you send him to die?”  
“Ah, you’ll have to specify. We send you four on many dangerous missions.” A face formed in the lava, looking up at the three.   
“More than the rest of us.” Fury demanded angrily.  
“Of course. We agreed to that with him, after all. Let it not be said that we do not keep our agreements.” It almost seemed as if the face was laughing, the sentence interspersed with amused chuckles. “And you know of that now, I take? Shame on you, Death, using your necromancy to find your sibling’s secrets.”  
“Agreement?” War echoed, eyes narrowing in his hood.  
“So you don’t know?” The plateau they were on rumbled with laughter. “Now I am really interested in what happened to drag that reveal out in the open.”  
“Just answer the question.” Death snarled, more of his energy working on the soul he was holding. “What agreement?”  
The sound that followed was like a cracking rock. “The agreement we made with Strife when you joined us.”  
“Elaborate, damn you.” The Firstborn was sweating by now, but he refused to let this go.  
“We could not… risk you breaking of one of you died. He was to make sure you would not break, and in turn we’d not risk any of you.” It was clear the returned soul of one of the aspects of the Charred Council did not want to make that confession, but weakened by death and time, the Nephilim was stronger. “He would make you hate him, and in turn he’d be the one send on suicide-missions. And look how you repaid his dedication… casting him aside.”


	17. Chapter 16

Death had not spoken when they returned to the fortress. Upon arrival he left the two of them to march off to his own chambers. War briefly visited Strife – who was being watched by one of the Fallen’s healers – before climbing up the stairs to his and Azrael’s tower. He found the scholar in bed, their two daughters securely wrapped in the angelic male’s wings.  
Stopping at the foot-end of the bed, the Rider briefly stared at his family. The two girls were asleep, as far as he could tell, but Azrael was still awake, looking up at him in sadness. Sighing once, figuring that talking to his lover could wait until it would not wake up his children, he joined them on bed after a bit or rearranging.  
Azrael and Grace were flanking him now, their long wings hanging down from the bed, while Gabriel was curled up on his chest. With that, the small family fell asleep.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Strife remained unconscious for several days, making the air thick with apprehension. Death threw himself into finding the ones responsible for the attack, while telling War it be best he remain at home. The demons in question had proven to be mercenaries and as such, whoever had bought their loyalty for this would need to watch the Horsemen to know whether they succeeded. For now, it was best to have them assume that War was grieving and the girls dead, rather than risk another strike.  
The Red Rider was not happy about this, but acquiesced at his youngest daughter’s pleas to stay with her.  
What Death found after summoning one of the slain demons, was worse than merely mercenaries having found their home: the demon did not know who they were, but their sell-sword company had been bought by an angel.  
The Nephilim Firstborn was furious. He had allowed Azrael to tell his relatives where the Horsemen made their residence, and now the angels had repaid them by invading!?  
“Death!” Laylah and Rahab were more than a little perturbed at the Rider marching into their outpost and looking like the only reason he had not slaughtered half of their guards being by virtue of the Horsemen being allowed free access to most of said outpost. “What in Creation do you think you are doing!?” Though they were sincerely doubting they had ever implied he could just march into their apartment like that.  
“Who did you tell where our fortress was located?” He counter-demanded, snarling a bit behind his mask.  
“Only a select few, most of whom we call sibling. Why?” The female angel answered, while her husband seemed to contemplate going for his weapons by the way the Nephilim looked.  
“Then I would suggest you find out who among your siblings hired demons to attack us.” The Nephilim Firstborn stated sharply, giving the two in front of him the rare benefit of the doubt that they were uninvolved in this mess. “Because some angel hired demons to kill your grandchildren.” And nearly killed my brother, he added mentally.   
“They… what?” Laylah nearly snarled at the news. “Rest assured that our siblings would never do such a thing, and we will look into that.”  
“You better.” He watched her rise with the eternal grace of her people. “And you better save him for me.”  
“Now that, Horseman, I cannot promise.” She countered, gesturing briefly at her husband, who marched out of the room and loudly summoned several angels outside by name. “Those are my grandchildren after all. I’ll want word with that angel myself. I do not take kindly to those who threaten my kin.”  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
“You knew.” It was no question, rather a statement of fact.  
“For quite a while, yes.” Azrael was braiding Gabriel’s hair, only briefly looking over his shoulder at his mate. “But he asked me not to tell you.”  
“And yet you did.” War was watching them, Grace sitting curled up on the bed of her parents with a book.  
“After what Death said, how could I not?” The scholar answered softly, reaching for the ribbon his child offered him. “Strife did not deserve this.”  
“Indeed.” The youngest Rider deflated slightly, sitting down on the bed beside his eldest.


	18. Chapter 17

Caim replaced his healer around midnight to stand vigil over the prone lying Horseman. It had been several days and Death had driven the healers to exhaustion. Sitting beside the bed, he glanced at Strife when suddenly his vision became blurry. He hesitantly took the nearest hand and held it tightly. Leaning his head forward, he whispered: “Please come back...”   
Strife’s hand trembled, fingers twitching weakly.  
Feeling the slight twitch, Caim felt hope flooding his body. He held the hand against his cheek, tears flowing down. “Strife? Please come back, your brethren need you. I need you.” It was hard to see clearly due to his tears.  
The Rider weakly moaned, fingers twitching again when feeling the tears of the angel. His entire body hurt and he felt so weak. “Ca...?” He croaked, throat dry and painful.  
Shushing the Rider, the Commander gently stroked Strife’s head while still holding his hand. “I'm here, no need to talk.”  
Strife smiled weakly, leaning into the stroking of the angel. “Gir...?” He coughed, his throat really wanting him to obey the angel. But he had to know, had to know whether they were okay or in a state like him.  
Helping the Rider to drink some water, Caim answered his half-spoken question: “The girls are alright. Shaken, but not even a scratch upon them. They were worried about you, just like everybody else.”  
Though he relaxed in relief at both the drink and the news that the girls were unharmed, Strife snorted at the 'everybody'. His siblings surely were not among those... He had made certain of that.  
As if he could read that thought, Caim smiled at him weakly. “Especially your siblings. Azrael kind of told them about your true feelings.” He cringed at the memory of his brother yelling at the Horsemen, fuelled by War’s Wrath. A sight he doesn't want to experience again. “They feel very guilty about it. And they know about 'The Deal'.”  
“They... weren't... suppo...” Strife blinked, first in surprise then horror. The angel had told them!? Creator-damnit! He coughed again. “Supposed to know...” Why did Azrael tell them? There was a reason why he kept all that hidden!  
“Azrael couldn't stand it anymore. And besides, The Charred Council doesn't exist anymore.” Still stroking the black-haired Rider, the Fallen continued softly. “It is your burden no more.”  
The Gunner sighed softly, deciding that it could wait for now. Instead he weakly raised his hand, touching the wet trails on the other's face. “You... cried...” He followed them up to cup the face. “For me?”  
The angel took some shuddering breaths. “Of course, you damn Nephilim. After learning…” He fell silent, gathering himself for the next couple of sentences, shaking his head to clear it. “I... I am sorry for yelling at you. I...”  
Strife moved his thumb to the angel's lips, silencing him. He hoped that his eyes could convey what his throat – hurting like Hell again – could not: it was okay, there was nothing that needed forgiveness.  
Caim nodded, understanding what Strife wanted to convey. Carefully removing the hand from his face, he held it between his hands. “There is something else...” By the Creator, why is this difficult!  
Strife tilted his head questioningly, wondering why it seemed that the angel felt... awkward? Well, that had been a while at least.  
Looking down at the hands, Caim whispered. “I would like to get to know the real you… all of it.” Eyes downcast, he began to play with the fingers between his own.   
Strife blinked, then blinked again. He did that a lot today... “All...?” He echoed, tugging at the hands holding his when it seemed like the angel had not heard him.   
With a sigh, the angel looked up, feeling surprisingly tense. “All of it.” The black raven wings twitched in agitation. “I know we had an agreement about our escapades and your tastes. But I... You deserve better than me just… being too chicken…”   
Carefully shifting so the Rider could reach the other's collar with his free hand, he pulled at the fabric to bring the head closer to his... and kissed the angel.  
The kiss certainly shut up the Fallen, however after the initial shock was over, he returned the kiss. He later gently pulled himself back and stared at the Rider. “Strife?”  
Having a sore throat at this moment was really unhelpful. “Better prepare yourself then.” He growled with a rough voice, not letting go of the collar. His eyes burned in the gloom of the room they were in, fixed on the pearly eyes of the angel.  
Caim blinked at the feral growl, he then laughed softly. He leaned against the Horseman, making sure he didn't hurt him. “Of course.”   
Strife grinned lightly, kissing him again. “I’ll look forward to that...” He added softly, reclining back onto the bed with a hiss of pain. Fucking Hell, he was going to murder people for this... once he could move.  
Helping Strife to get more comfortable in bed, Azrael’s brother returned the gesture. “Try to rest, we can talk more later.” He moved to return back to his chair to continue his vigil over Strife.   
But Strife would not let him, pulling at the other. “Join?” He croaked weakly, patting the space beside him. He wanted someone close right now.  
Carefully so he wouldn't cause Strife any more pain, the Fallen joined him hesitantly. Both of his wings folded behind his back, he moved as close as he dared. “Go back to sleep. I'll be here till you wake up.”  
Strife smiled weakly at the angel. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the Fallen, drifting off into some much needed sleep.


	19. Chapter 18

Several days later, the healers allowed Strife to try sitting up at least. During that time, his siblings did evade him, only visiting when they knew him to be asleep. Or at least, they tried to.   
Azrael was adamant in his demands that War visit the brother that nearly died for his children. The youngest Rider was less than happy about this, but acquiesced.  
As in the White City the hunt continued for the angels that would dare sell out Azrael’s children to the demons, the inhabitants of the fortress saw a new side to Strife. Despite being less than happy with Azrael for spilling his secret, the White Rider in the end merely shrugged and went back to how he had been long ago. Fury came to his bedside soon after that incident of her own volition, having been the closest to him even after Eden.  
At the suggestion of fresh air helping the recovery, at one point the healers allowed Strife to attend a small picnic outside the fortress.  
The Gunner was placed in a reclining chair, little Gabriel at his side. After what happened, he had become her hero, even instilling in her the Nephilim lust for battle.  
That’s how Death found them, his first-raised teaching the second child of War how to use a bow. Azrael and Caim were watching, the scholar reclining on a blanket on the ground while the Fallen stood beside Strife with an indulgent smile. The green-clad girl was holding a small bow of flawlessly white wood, tongue sticking out as she tried to do as her uncle was telling her.  
Looking at the softly talking Nephilim beside her, Death couldn’t help but wonder for the umpteenth time how he could have been so blind.  
It was Azrael noticing him first, eyes narrowing at the posture of the Firstborn. He said something, speaking so softly that Death could not understand the words. In turn, they were all looking at him now.  
“Can I speak to you, Strife?” For once, his voice was soft and demure as he closed in.  
“We’ll leave you to it then.” Azrael rose from his seat on the ground, putting one hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Come, before your muscles cramp up from holding a bow the entire time.”  
“That’s how we learned it back in the day though.” Strife pointed out with a small smile at Gabriel’s sounds of protest. “Your mother is right, Gabriel. Go on.”  
“I’m staying.” Caim countered softly, not budging as his brother and nieces headed back to the fortress.  
His two daughters fluttered on to the fortress, but the younger angelic adult waited at such a distance he could see but not hear the three that had stayed at the little picnic.  
Waiting, he watched as Strife merely looked at Death, giving no reaction to whatever the Firstborn was saying. The scholar could tell from his brother’s wings however that the Fallen did not quite like whatever was being told.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Despite Caim seemingly not really agreeing with whatever the Nephilim Firstborn had said, Strife and Death slowly started mending their relationship. Not that Strife cared very much about that right now.  
“You’re looking good like that.” On healer’s orders, he was forbidden from any strenuous activity, much to his frustration. He was smart enough to not risk their wrath however, so he amused himself by enjoying the view.  
“That, we covered a good while ago, me guesses.” Caim had taken a bath and was currently preening his long feathers. In response to some puppy-dog-eyes, he was doing that naked. “Or was I supposed to think that you liked me for my skill in bed?”  
“Well…” The Rider smirked lightly. “More the ‘lack of skill’, actually: perfect to be trained.” He was rewarded with a nearby book flying towards him, missing him only by virtue of Caim having aimed poorly since he was still weakened. “Aww, come on, my little Raven.”  
“Watch your words or the Raven flies away.” The Fallen half-snarled, getting up to retrieve the book and put it back where it belonged.  
“No need to get cruel, that’s my job.” The Rider managed to catch the hand of the other male, tugging as hard as he could on it. This forced Caim to frantically flap his wings to keep from crashing into the half-healed wounds of the male on the bad. “Join me.”  
“You are insatiable.” The angel sighed, carefully climbing in beside the black-haired male.  
“You wound me. I haven’t touched you in over a week.”  
“Because you’re too wounded to do so.”


	20. Chapter 19

Within a week of being declared fit enough to start getting back to his normal levels of activity, Strife and Caim joined the communal breakfast with Caim having a Mark peeking over his collar. The Fallen were thrilled, much to their Commander’s embarrassment. Said embarrassment was being made worse by jokes coming from the Archangel’s side of the table, who enjoyed the flustered countenance of his elder brother.  
“Mother is going to enjoy this.” Azrael chuckled, gesturing with his fork at the fresh Mark on his brother’s neck. “It was one of her questions for you after all.”  
“Please don’t tell her.” Caim buried his face in his hands. “She won’t leave me alone if she finds out.”  
“You do remember we have Iaoel as an aunt right?” The unFallen Elder angel laughed now, taking some of the food on his plate. “I can bet you that mother has her watch for things like that.”  
The Fallen groaned at that to general laughter and chuckles. “Strife, we’re breaking up again. I don’t want to deal with this.”  
“We can elope?” The Gunner smirked at the male he had claimed for his own sometime during the prior night. “As a Fallen, I think that is a thing we can do.”  
“Then she’ll never let me live it down.” Black wings twitched as their owner looked at his nieces. “You two better hope she’ll have calmed down by the time you two get someone.”  
“From what I see, I think she’d need at least ten more children of her own.” War dryly pointed out, causing his eldest to snort tea through her nose, coughing rather violently.   
“Speaking of that, how come she only has you two?” Fury looked at her two in-laws. “She’s had eons.”  
“Mom’s as good as infertile.” Azrael sighed. “Basically, as an Archangel of Fertility, she’s expending so much fertility to the rest of Creation she needs to give conscious effort to keep some for herself.”  
“Which is quite hard, according to her.” Caim shrugged lightly. “Something I cannot tell in earshot of Gabriel.” One of his mouth-corners quirked up at the insulted sound coming from his youngest niece.  
All of them blinked when a scroll appeared in front of Azrael, breaking the comfortable atmosphere.  
“What does it say?” Death demanded after the angel had read it.  
“They have found one of the angels responsible, though he has refused to speak until the sending of this letter.” The scholar darkly stated, hand tight around the fragile paper. “They summon the Horsemen to deal with him personally.”  
“I guess we know what to do after breakfast then.” The Firstborn snarled.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Metatron greeted them at the gates to the City. “Where are the girls?”  
“Back at the fortress.” Azrael greeted his uncle. Only the Horsemen and the two elder angels had come to Heaven. “Why?”  
“Michael offered to watch them while this is happening.” The Angelic Firstborn stated, briefly looking at the Nephilim. “Not to insinuate that your fortress is less secure, but…”  
“Given recent lapses…” Death dryly finished his statement. “Where is the angel?”  
“In prison, obviously.” Metatron gestured into the city. “Follow me.”  
“I’ll visit mother.” Azrael spoke up.   
“Leaving the gruesome stuff to me?” War chuckled lowly, briefly pulling the angel closer.   
“Of course, because after the Ravaiim homeworld, I can still get queasy.” The scholar chuckled softly. “There’s something I want to discuss with her, and I cannot assure you I will not blast that man to the Land of the Dead beyond even the reach of Death.”  
“I’ll join you.” Caim briefly stretched his wings in preparation of flight. “Where is she?” He turned to his uncle.  
“My residency. If you will follow me then, Horsemen?” Metatron spread his four wings to take off after his nephews flew into the city.  
“How long until we get there?” Strife summoned Regret, equally recovered from her run-in with the creatures of their homeworld.  
“A few minutes.” The angel took to the air. “I will take the liberty of summoning roads for you, otherwise it’ll take us hours on the quickest road.” He turned to the city as well, leading the way as rocks formed from thin air underneath the horses’ hooves.  
The Nephilim followed him at a quick canter, leaving quadruple trails in the air behind them. It was indeed only a few minutes until they reached the prisons, which were located near the barracks of the City Guard. Uriel and several of her Champions were waiting for them.  
“Still nothing?” Metatron lead the way inside, wings wide with anger.   
“No, my Lord.” Uriel followed just a bit behind him, only briefly glancing over her shoulder at the Horsemen. “Lady Iaoel has been summoned.”  
“Give us a go first.” Death stated, the twin forms of Harvester bouncing on his hips. “We’ll get him to talk.”  
“In a way that does not involve Necromancy?” The Angelic Firstborn seemed to be unfazed at the mention of the arts of Demons. “We want him to be able to stand trail.”  
“Oh, don’t worry about that one.” War assured his in-law as a massive door was opened. it was made from the crystal angels used in the field, though this was far more translucent. Inside the room was one male, clad only in a pair of leggings and chained to a chair. “Just don’t expect him to have all limbs.”  
“We’ll have to live with that then.” Metatron allowed him first entry, gesturing Uriel away.  
With the arrival of the Horsemen, the courage of the angel failed. By the time several of the other Angelic Firstborn had arrived, he was short three limbs and was answering any questions with inelegant blubbering. All except the one as to who had thought of the plan to slay Azrael’s children.  
“Perhaps I can assist.” Iaoel, sole surviving aunt of Azrael, coldly stated, moving forward. “Second Sight has its’ uses after all.” One of her hands slammed into the prisoners forehead. “Show me.” Her nails broke his skin as he groaned in renewed pain. His eyes rolled back in his head as the Firstborn tore through what mental defenses he had left. “Sabrael. Sabrael has betrayed us.”  
“I do not know him.” Death’s eyes narrowed.  
“He… he is the head of Michael’s personal guard and one of his elder sons.” Rahab snarled. “One of the few we had trusted with your location outside of our siblings.” War’s father-in-law made to say more, but suddenly lurched forward with a cry, clutching his shoulder while collapsing. Light burned in his eyes as his energies burned.  
“What in…!?” Fury almost jumped back.  
“Creator.” The third brother of the Firstborn knelt next to his sibling. “It’s his angelic bond with Laylah… but I have never seen it so active!”  
“Move.” The female Firstborn joined him on the ground. “Let me in, Rahab. Let me see.”  
Metal creaked as the armoured male held his shoulder so tightly that he might well bend the pauldron on that shoulder.  
“They have killed her.” Iaoel breathed in horror over a groan of the man she was still holding. “Creator. They killed her… to get her sons.” By the time she had shot up, both War and Strife were already moving outside. “Metatron, follow them!”


	21. Chapter 20

As for what had happened across the White City to send the Horsemen stampeding through it with little care for anything in their way and only Metatron following them keeping the City Guard from attacking them?  
Azrael and Caim had joined their mother in Metatron’s home in the City, discussing a revelation Azrael had that might allow her to have more children.  
“I suppose nothing stops me from trying.” She was sitting on one of the armchairs, regarding both her sons. “Are you two volunteering?”  
“Hell no.” Caim dryly stated. “It’s going to be bad enough when you carry a child and I’ll know it happened, I do not want to actually be part of it.”  
“So very nice of you, my son.” She returned the flat stare, reaching for her drink. “Considering you apparently do far worse on a regular basis now.” She used the glass to gesture to her eldest’s neck. “I have seen Azrael enough to know what that means.”  
The youngest angel snorted at the blush covering his brother’s cheeks. “I… what I do in bed is none of your business, mother.”  
“I know, I know.” She laughed now, much to his consternation. “So how long will your darlings need, you think?”  
“Not that long, I imagine.” Azrael looked up when someone knocked on the door. One of Metatron’s servants entered, informing that a contingent of warriors had arrived. “Send their leader in.”  
“Hail, Auntie, cousins.” It was one of Michael’s eldest that entered. “I have been send to increase your guard… or rather, form your guard.” He inclined his head lightly.   
“Then you are late to your duty, nephew.” Laylah filled a glass with wine, offering it to him. “They are here for a good hour by now.”  
“We did not expect Azrael to arrive. We assumed he would stay in the fortress.” The armour-clad male joined them in sitting down. “Considering… events.”  
“Someone tried to kill my daughters, Sabrael.” Azrael countered sharply. “I am not going to sit at home.”  
“They survived?” The newest arrival looked surprised. “That… is a relief.”  
“Sabrael?” Laylah’s eyes narrowed a touch. “What ward are your people creating outside?” She had dealt with Samael on a regular basis back in the day and had honed her magic-sensing to a high degree; after all, she had managed to notice Caim’s illusion a decade ago by feel alone. Now she felt a ward being drawn up in the hallway outside of the room. “Metatron’s house is warded well enough.”  
“Unfortunately, not enough.” Sabrael steepled his fingers together. “A mere precaution.”  
“Why is a Magic-ward a precaution?” Azrael – less subconsciously sensitive like his mother, but capable once he put his mind to it – shot up. “Cousin!”  
Several warriors came inside when the ward finished and all magics were drained from the nearby vicinity.  
“An unfortunate necessity.” Sabrael clarified, rising to his feet while putting down the drink he had been offered.  
“Sabrael.” Caim was up and in front of his sibling before the other had finished getting up. “You filthy traitor.”  
“Like I care about the opinion of a Fallen.” Michael’s child stated. “Step aside, or I will mourn not when I kill you.”  
“Nephew!” Laylah snarled. “What in the name of Lilith’s filthy Keep are you intending to do here?” Instinctively she reached for the Rod of Arafel, her continuous accessory, even though it was no more than a fancy metal pole right now.  
“The Nephilim may not resurface, auntie, and certainly not from Azrael’s loins.” Sabrael looked with clear regret at his family-member. “Surely we all remember how devastating they were? How would they become with his magics to fuel their new conquest?”  
“Are you insinuating I would allow such a thing from my children!?” Azrael almost screeched.   
“Azrael.” Laylah stopped her youngest. “Sabrael. What are you insinuating here? Do you assume we’d give our approval to something that would doom us all? You know how the ‘redemption-betrothal’ works. Aside from your father, all of Azrael’s relatives gave their approval.”  
“It is also well-known that Azrael is the baby of the family on account of being one of the last Secondborn.” Sabrael stated with a note of sadness. “But this cannot be allowed, Laylah. The last time the Nephilim came to power, they threatened everything. It’s unfortunate that it involves family.”  
“Dramatic irony would dictate that people start thinking now, of course.” The female muttered darkly under her breath. “Sabrael, think well about what you intend to do here.”  
“For the light, and Balance.” He pushed her aside, advancing on her two sons with sword drawn. Caim promptly interposed himself, something which was at best buying his brother a few seconds; the whole existence of a Fallen Secondborn among the Nephilim’s company was a well-kept secret. Michael’s son would have no qualms to cut him down and unarmed, with no magic, there would be little he could do against it.


	22. Chapter 21

But Laylah had lost her son once; she would not lose him again. Four wings usually cost their owners dexterity and grace, but what few considered was that it allowed them a far faster ‘sprint’ than two-winged angels. Michael’s treacherous son had only two, and was hindered by his need to aim his sword.  
He was aiming for a diagonal strike, to kill the Fallen, who hopefully by the momentum of the swing be moved aside to open up Azrael. He had not considered his aunt propelling herself in front of his attack. He tried to redirect it, but failed.  
His sword was nearly as fearsome as Abaddon’s and his strength nothing to scoff at, his other parent being one of Heaven’s finest warrior-Firstborn. She had failed to interpose the Rod of Arafel on time and the Heavenly steel only stopped halfway through her decorative breastplate.  
On instinct, Azrael pushed aside his brother, catching the falling female as the Rod fell from her now powerless hands. Caim was in shock, seeing the start of the healing by her bond with his father. Only a fool would believe it would be enough to save her. Anger flooded his being.  
His cousin meanwhile was in shock and reacted too slowly to stop the Fallen from going for the only weapon available. It was not his own staff, but it would certainly be enough to at least buy time now that people would have become aware.  
But the Fallen had forgotten one thing; he was a Fallen and the weapon he went for was the Rod of Arafel, one of the weapons made by the Firstborn themselves at the beginning of their existence. As such, it was marginally self-aware: it knew the energies of its’ wielder and would react accordingly. For example, when Lucien wanted to use it when he was Corrupted, it allowed and assisted the purging of the Ivory Citadel, but ‘refused’ to be much more than a mere conduit when he battled Death.   
“Wait!” Azrael remembered this, grabbing the Rod to pull it from his brother’s hands. It might well be what saved his elder brother from death.  
When the Fallen took hold of it, the Rod would have burned him to a cinder after sensing its’ previous wielder gaining a fatal wound. When Azrael’s hand closed around the Rod as well, it became as confused as a weapon could be. The similarities between the two sons of Laylah had been oft commented upon, a common joke back in the day being that had Laylah not born them several centuries apart, even she might have thought they were twins.  
Now, the limited conscious of the Rod was forced to deal with two near-identical energies, but one Fallen while the other was Pure. It could not burn, since one hand of its’ wielder was Pure. It could not ignore, since the other hand was Fallen.  
So it purged.  
Holy light flooded the room, pure energy arcing between its’ two holders and being drawn to the only active holy spell in the vicinity.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Nearby, two Horsemen felt that last one. Sheer automatism and Fury’s quick reaction allowed Strife to remain on his horse as his entire body felt on fire for a brief moment, while War’s right arm felt like he had dipped it in electricity.  
Metatron up ahead tore open his own house, the expensive marble raining down as he allowed the horses entry inside.  
War wasted little time, following the two bonds he had with Azrael to the scholar. He found him crumbled to the floor, half in the blood-pool of the Firstborn. The Gatekeeper was conscious, moaning as he clutched his right arm. His sleeve had been torn apart by the energy released, leaving a few sad strips hanging from his shoulder.  
“Azrael.” The Rider rushed to his side.  
“Mother…” The angel struggled to get to his feet as Fury sank down to look at the angelic Firstborn and Death closed in on the other angels in the room. Strife had stumbled to Caim, aftershocks of pain still reaching him through the Markbond. Unlike his brother, the Fallen had been knocked out cold, half-draped over the couch he had risen from earlier.  
Outside, guards were flocking to the open wall, taking the angels in the room into custody.  
“She’s healed for the most part.” Fury gently lifted the blood-covered female. “Metatron! Where are the nearest healers?”  
“I am here.” The last male Firstborn dove inside, shortly followed by the rest of his siblings. “Put her here.” Rahab followed his sibling, pale as he stood beside his wife. “Iaoel is informing Michael.”  
“Quick question…” Strife finally spoke up, having manoeuvred his angel into a more comfortable position. “Do Fallen usually bleach when they get knocked out?”  
The Rod had purged.


	23. Chapter 22

“Michael.” Iaoel moved through the building like a force of nature.   
The ball in front of her shifted, her anger and indignation reaching the man in the middle. The sea of feathers parted, tentacles and wings both spreading across the room to form a wall of white.  
“What happened?” He knew the tone of voice well. It boded ill. Michael leaned forward, the golden fabric of his clothes pooling out of his secure ball as it opened even further to allow the glowing male to approach his sister. Her face seemed chiselled out of marble.  
“The traitors attacked.” Her golden wings curled around her form, no hesitation slowing her down as she continued speaking. “Sabrael led them.”  
The beautifully flowing feather-tentacles froze. “Sabrael. My Sabrael?” Michael’s light sharpened, the stone he stepped down on lightly cracking under the intensity.  
“Yes.”  
The tentacles coiled now, like snakes waiting to strike. Michael loved his children, sometimes to the point of spoiling them by the standards of his siblings, but he had yet to find them as trustworthy as his siblings. He trusted his siblings, so if one of them accused a child of something, they usually were being honest.  
“What happened?” There was a growling undertone to his voice now, his servants backing away as far as they could without abandoning their posts.  
“He nearly killed Laylah in his attempt to reach her sons.” Being blind, Iaoel was the only one in the room being completely unfazed at the dramatic increase in brightness as Michael’s anger exploded. By this point, had any Nephilim – or even full-blooded demons – been in the room, they would have been actively hurt by being in his presence.   
“You know what to do.” Without raising his voice, it now echoed in the very building.   
Even for his children, there would be no mercy for such a sacrilege.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Heaven’s greatest criminals were both judged and executed publicly, though very few crimes warranted both. Most had everything happen in private, some had the punishment be a public event and only a few had everything happen in front of anyone who wanted to attend.  
One of those few was any form of sacrilege… and attacking a Firstborn outside of self-defence or provable confusion was sacrilege. As such, Sabrael had been brought to the central arena, where such cases were processed. His co-conspirators dodged that bullet, having not committed this crime.  
The only mercy he had was that Laylah had survived and both she and Azrael had stated that he had been aiming for someone else, making his sacrilege more accidental than intentional. Not accidental enough however to forgive combined with his plotting of killing essentially an entire lineage.  
Azrael had changed into different clothes, sitting near the seats of the Firstborn with three of the four Horsemen at his side. Laylah – even after the healing of the energy-explosion and her brother – suffered from blood-loss still and was confined to the healing-wards. Her husband on the other hand had forgone staying at her side for the moment and was in attendance. Whispers ran across the many rows of seats that he had not looked this furious even at the height of the demonic wars. Many pitied Sabrael for having to face this anger.  
Worse still for the foolish man, there was a wide-open space in front of the Firstborn-seats; wide enough to fit a Trauma-sized ball of wings and feathered tentacles comfortably. Michael was going to attend and most likely conduct this trail of his son.  
In short, judgement had already been passed before the trail even started. The only question was what the punishment would be.  
Finally the Lord of Heaven appeared in the air above, two Orthos circling around him as his guards. The massive beasts landed heavily in the arena in front of where Michael would land as a hush fell over the crowd.  
Even balled up as he was, light poured out from behind the wings and tentacles. Shields around the Nephilim activated, protecting the half-demonic guardians of the Balance from the holiness emanating from the new arrival.   
War leaned over towards Azrael lightly. “Do these things last as long as your weddings?” He wanted to get his hands on that angel sooner rather than later. Azrael merely shook his head, having a quite good idea what the faith of his cousin would be.  
“I did what had to be done!” The chained male screamed, fighting his bonds. “The Nephilim cannot be allowed to return!”  
“Who are you to judge?” Michael did not even deign his disgraced child with opening his wings. “Tell me… Are you wise? Wiser perhaps than Lucien, greatest scholar of my children?” He did not give his son a chance to answer. “Are you great? Greater than Abaddon, mightiest of Heaven’s warriors, Firstborn included? We both know you are not. So why… did you think you were better than them? Why do you think you know the Creator’s plan better than they?”  
“His plan is to see them gone! There is a reason Eden happened!”  
“The ability for a man to bear child is a gift not even Laylah can give.” Rahab spoke up sharply, glowering in fury down into the arena. “It is a gift only given by the Creator. Are you saying he gifted wrong when allowing my flesh and blood to conceive? Has your sacrilege no bounds?”  
Iaoel’s golden wings wrapped around her brother to calm his ire. “Pride and hubris run strong in this spawn of Phanuel, as they did his youngest brother…” It was cruel statement, doubly so because she refused to acknowledge his Lineage, that by which he was known in Heaven. “Our sister would weep if she could see the damnation of her sons. This was not what she intended her gift to be to you. You disgrace her name by believing it so.”  
“The fault lies not with Phanuel.” Michael interrupted her, opening his wings like the gates to a courtroom. “I ruined her gifts to me, for it is clear that they would never act in such a way if another’s blood had flown through their veins. They place too much stock in the line they have to me.”  
Light poured out over the arena. “Sabrael, you tried to kill a High Secondborn, plotted to destroy a Lineage of Heaven and nearly slew a Firstborn who was saved by nothing short of a miracle and dared presume the Creator was less wise than you. You know the crime you stand accused of… and you know its’ price.”  
“Now just a…” Death knew instinctively that a mere Fall would not be what Michael was condemning his child to. He wanted to be certain that the Nephilim still got their due out of this. Azrael’s hand on his arm stopped him… and something in the angel’s eyes made him relent.  
“Death would be a mercy. A Fall would be a mercy. Oblivion would be a mercy.” The disappointment in his voice probably hurt the chained male more than any of those fates. “Therefore, you will live forever. Until the Creator unmakes creation, you will endure, even if the City falls to ruin. There will be no rebirth, nor the mercy of an ending.”  
Rahab rose from his seat, spreading his wings and gliding down.


	24. Chapter 23

To Death, with his sensitivity to souls, whatever it was that Rahab did to his nephew felt sickening. Considering the Horseman did not blink at using Necromancy, that was saying something.  
Beside him, Azrael had taken War’s hand, clinging to the Rider as much as he could get away with.  
Below them, it seemed as if the soul of Michael’s son was being torn apart.  
“What is he doing?” The Firstborn Nephilim hissed, leaning over to Azrael.  
“Putting the soul in Limbo. Unable to ever regain a form with which he can interact, or pass to the Well. A little ‘priveledge’ of the Well-keepers.” The Gatekeeper sighed softly. “Think of it as a permanent banishment from the Well. An Oblivion the person is aware of.”  
“Do I want to know often that gets handed out?” Fury demanded softly, a hint of terror in her eyes. Such a punishment, without any real oversight.  
“Rarely.” Azrael assured her, sighing again. “If you think it looks horrible, it is far worse if you are performing it.”  
That Death could imagine, if the feel from this distance was anything to go by. For angels, who honoured the sanctity of the soul like few other races, doing something like this had to be horrifying.  
He watched as the body collapsed, Rahab turning away from it while shaking his hands. A look of utter disgust was on the angel’s face, the bronze face pale like in sickness.  
Michael closed his wings and tentacles, floating out of the arena and no doubt heading back to his tower to mourn yet another son that had died.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
Caim still felt the aftershocks of firey pain when he woke, laying on his side in a soft and sumptuous bed.  
“Good morning, darling.” Strife was sitting on the side the angel was facing, arms and legs crossed as he waited for him to wake. “Done hugging dangerous artefacts?”  
“Whuh…?” The Fallen’s Commander groaned lightly, letting his head fall back the bit he had managed to lift it.  
“You used the Rod of Arafel… I have been assured that was a near suicidal thing to do. Am I that bad to be around?”   
The fact that Strife was joking around told Caim that it was not nearly as bad as the Rider made it out to be with his other words. Though… why would he have taken the Rod of Arafel of all weapons? Suicidal did barely begin to cover that! Then it hit him, the sight of his falling and – most importantly – mortally wounded mother shooting back to the forefront of his mind.  
The sound he makes was a tortured croak, his body not obeying when he demanded it get up.  
“I am alright, my son.” The soft voice came from a different part of the room and he fell back into bed in relief. The Fallen threw a glance at Strife, who nodded with a light smile. “Though I will agree with your little Rider… the Rod of Arafel is not a thing to be wielded by Fallen. Had Azrael not taken it as well, you would be dead instead of this.”  
It took his weakened brain a bit to register her words fully. Throwing a questioning frown at Strife, he noted in worry that the Nephilim looked highly uncomfortable. The black-armoured shoulders slumped lightly as the wingless male reached over, briefly caressing his lover’s cheek before reaching for a strand of hair and pulling it forward so he could see it.  
Caim’s brain shut down. Instead of the raven-black it had been for more eons than he cared to count, his hair was pure white. Trembling, he hoisted one wing up, turning a bit so he could see the feathered appendage. It was just as flawlessly white as the wings of any other angel.   
“What…?” The trembling grew worse, tears forming in his eye-corners. Promptly, strong arms pulled him up, Strife protectively encasing his angel in his embrace. The now former Fallen started sobbing uncontrollably, the feeling of the pure Heavenly energies flooding his being feeling foreign and wrong after this long time as a Fallen.  
It was only after he calmed down a bit that his mother spoke. “The best way I see it – and the others agreed with me – is that the limited conscious of the Rod could not deal with both you and Azrael taking a hold at the same time.” She smiled weakly as her eldest peeked over at her, looking more like a terrified child than a powerful Secondborn. “It’s been stated how alike you two are… As such, it had the ‘knee-jerk’ reaction to make the two energies equal. It basically purified you.”


	25. Chapter 24

Caim was utterly conflicted about having been purified by the Rod. He certainly didn’t mind so much that he could now visit his family without having to fear being murdered for being Fallen.  
Even the whole colour-change he could deal with after getting used to it; it’s not like it was like his wings changed form or something like that…  
No, the worst thing was that everyone now treated him differently. Even three of the Horsemen were acting differently towards him now that he was officially a High Secondborn. It was maddening that only Strife had changed nothing – aside from his nickname – after Caim became Haniel again.  
“If my mother wouldn’t murder me, I’d waltz into Hell to Fall again.” Azrael’s brother muttered into the pillows he was trying to suffocate himself in.  
“You said something like that an hour ago already.” Strife was sitting beside him on the bed, cleaning his guns. “And I believe the hour before that as well.”  
“It’s still a viable thought.” Caim flapped his wings, barely keeping from smacking his lover. “Creator, this is horrible. To think that there are Fallen wanting this. They don’t realize the mess this causes.”  
“Considering everyone figured it’d be only wishful thinking.” The Gunner reached over, gently combing the long feathers. “Those that do would not bother to go beyond the ramifications of seeing their loved ones again.” He chuckled lightly. “Considering how happy your mother looked when first seeing you all white, I’d say it’s worth it.”  
“I know that as well.” The angel sighed while hugging the pillow. “Azrael was beyond thrilled as well. As was dad…” He frowned at the headboard. Just a short while after Caim had somewhat become used to the whole purity-thing again, Rahab had jokingly declared that his eldest could take up the mantle of ‘Guardian of the Tree of Life’ again. “I swear he insisted on a second child so he could give all his Out-of-Heaven jobs to his descendants.”  
“Makes one wonder, doesn’t it?” The Horsemen snorted, keeping at performing wing-care for his lover. “I am sure we can fiddle it so you are too busy working for us to have to do that?”  
“I am not sure fulfilling all your fantasies is an appropriate way to dodge what had once been my life’s duty.” The older male smiled lightly.  
“What about yours?” The Nephilim laughed when the angel shoved him.  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
A couple months later, Azrael announced another pregnancy, the elation of his children being safe enough to activate his ability to conceive once more. For once, Death did not complain about yet another child running around in the fortress.  
Caim nearly got an aneurysm when someone asked whether he had gained Azrael’s ability to conceive after being purified since it had happened through matching their energies.  
He promptly got another one at the news coming from Heaven that a Firstborn had conceived. It had been since well before Eden that the White City had received a new Secondborn and for the Firstborn in question it had been even longer. Laylah had conceived for only the third time in her entire existence.   
“Are you sure you do not want to join us, brother?” Azrael smirked at his sibling. “Family-pregnancy?”  
“Considering how well Mom does in her pregnancies I am not going to risk it.” The elder angel muttered darkly, crossing his arms while studying his brother’s growing stomach.  
“My pregnancies are fine.” The Gatekeeper chuckled lightly, resting one hand on the bulge in his middle. “Perhaps you too will get them from our father’s side of the family?”  
“With my luck, I’m going to get Mother’s pregnancies worse than she does.” The former Fallen refused, looking out into the garden where Strife was training little Gabriel. “Besides, Creator knows how my Fallenness affects it.”


End file.
